The Final Bow
by DefyGravity18
Summary: My wish for what Love Never Dies would be like. Christine Daae emerges from the bowels of the opera house distraught and exhausted. Nothing will ever be the same for her again.
1. Madness

**I can't believe I'm starting ANOTHER, but A Very Fine Line is about half done and I saw Phantom onstage last night, and I fell completely back in love with it. This is a very different story for me. Let me just say, I've never been a Christine/Erik shipper, but after the show last night, I decided it could be done. So I am going to create my own vision on what the sequel will be like. I hope it's okay!!!!! **

* * *

**February 13, 1882**

**2:00 A.M.**

A light misty drizzle had begun to fall over the city as a crowd gathered outside the opera house, holding vigil for the kidnapped soprano and her lover, the Vicomte. It was a mild night for February, almost unseasonably balmy. The harried opera managers stood to the side, speaking with various reporters and _Surete. _A woman dressed all in black stood close by them, and if she hadn't looked so very stern, one might have guessed that she was worried. The only indication of this, however, was the small furrow between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. Her red hair was pulled so tightly back from her face, that she seemed older than her mere forty years. A group of young women were amassed around her like chicks around the mother hen.

The crowd was silent, waiting for something, _anything _to emerge from the darkened opera house. The only sounds were the quiet murmur of the police questioning witnesses and the soft sound of the rain falling on the pavement. At someone's sudden gasp, the crowd collectively lurched forward, hoping to see what was happening. Two people had appeared at the stairs into the opera house from within: A slight, dark haired girl in an elaborate wedding gown and a young man, who looked worse for the wear. He was soaked to the bone and there was an alarming red mark across his neck. Though he held the girl around the waist, there was a weakness in his stance, as if he may collapse at any moment.

Immediately, the couple were surrounded by police and medical personnel, causing so much commotion that everybody hardly noticed the smaller, fair haired girl who emerged next. In her tiny hand was clutched a white object. The woman in black rushed toward her, reprimanding her first before crushing the child to her.

"Maman," Her tiny voice trilled over the murmurs of the crowd. "He's gone." Her eyes drifted down to her hands, which held the mask of the perpetrator.

"What do you mean he's gone?" One angry member of the crowd cried, hearing her.

"You mean, he's escaped?" A woman cried. The police immediately surrounded the building, guns at the ready until a female voice spread desperately through the crowd.

"_STOP!"_

Everything came to a halt and every eye turned back to the dark haired girl, who was Christine Daae.

"Leave him alone!" She sobbed, her chest heaving with the labor of her breathing. "Leave him in peace, he isn't going to hurt anyone!" The woman in black, the ballet mistress took her into her arms, soothing her while her companion, the Vicomte de Chagny stared at her in disbelief.

"You are defending what he did tonight?" He asked her incredulously as people fussed over his bruised and battered body.

"No," The girl replied, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Of course not, but--"

"Hush," Madame Giry comforted her, stroking the fine curls on the soprano's head. "You needn't worry yourself over it any longer, child." She gave the Vicomte a calculating look.

"She is confused, understandably." She reminded him. "She needs sleep." The man nodded.

"I'll have my carriage brought around." The Vicomte replied. Madame Giry gave him a scathing look.

"Absolutely not." She snapped, guiding Christine's head to rest against her shoulder. "She will stay with me. She is my charge, not yours."

"She is my fiancée." He argued.

"Not your wife." Madame Giry added, taking Christine's hand along with her daughter's. "Until you are married, she will stay with me." Raoul nodded, sighing in defeat.

"Of course." He said calmly. "Forgive me. At least let me take you three home and see you safe inside." Madame Giry gave him a curt nod and followed him to the carriage with the girls in tow, ignoring the questions of reporters and police as they fought through the crowd.

* * *

Madame Giry was quick to make a pot of tea after the Vicomte had said his goodbyes and promised to return first thing in the morning. Meg was a good girl and had guided Christine's tired form into the room the two girls shared and had helped her out of the wedding dress and into a soft, clean nightgown. Madame Giry, seeing the state of panic and bemusement that Gustave Daae's daughter was in after her hellish ordeal, put a small dose of Laudanum into the child's teacup to help her sleep.

It was frightening to see the girl's big amber eyes so desolate. Silently, the ballet mistress cursed the man who had caused Christine so much grief these past months. Still, she knew the blame was also to be set on her own head. She had been the one to play along with his ploy, to encourage Christine to trust him. Never had she imagined that he would become obsessed with the child.

The two girls entered the kitchen holding hands. Christine's skin was pale, blending with the white of her cotton nightgown. Meg petted her hand as if that could help and guiding her to sit in a wooden chair at the kitchen table.

"Tea." Madame Giry said, setting the cup in front of her. "Drink."

"I'm not thirsty." Christine said quietly, but at the look that Madame Giry gave her, she immediately picked it up and took a small sip. Meg settled into the seat beside her and watched her closest friend and adoptive sister's face. She gladly accepted the cup of tea her mother placed before her. "I don't want to go to sleep tonight." Christine said, holding the cup between her hands and letting the warmth settle into her skin. "All I see is his face."

"Is it so terrible?" Meg whispered cautiously as Christine's large, brown eyes turned toward her and she shuddered.

"No." Christine whispered. "Not the deformity. The hurt. The pain…I can't bear it, I can't-"

Her voice broke and she bowed her head, her long hair falling to shield her face as her shoulders began to shake with the sobs that left her small body as she finally cried. Madame Giry crossed the room, barely touching the ground as she put her arm around Christine.

"This is not your fault, child, do you understand me?" Placing a finger beneath the girl's chin, she lifted her head. "This is not your doing, nor your responsibility. You don't owe him anything." Christine glared at her through her tears.

"How can _you_ of all people, say that? I owe him_ everything._ Without him, I would be nothing, I would be-"

"A girl with a quiet life and a happy future." Madame Giry said, sighing.

"If I hadn't been in _Hannibal,_ Raoul would have never noticed me. If he hadn't taught me to sing, I would have never been in it…if he hadn't called to me that first night in the chapel…"

"You can ponder what might have been until you die, but we can't go back." Madame Giry told her regretfully. "We can only go forward. The point is, Raoul _did _notice you…you love each other. You have a real future together." Christine nodded, though it was not hard to see this did not ease her suffering.

"You don't understand," She said, a tear winding down her cheek, "I…kissed _him._ I chose _him._ That's when he let us go…and when he told us to leave, I-" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I didn't want to."

"It is not up to you to save him." Madame Giry said fiercely. "I know you, Christine…you have such a kind heart that you would jump in front of a carriage to save a rabbit. This is not that."

"I know what I felt!" Christine insisted, staring at her guardian intensely. Madame Giry's blue eyes were kind.

"Marry Raoul as soon as possible, love." She said quietly. "You will be happy with him. There is no future with Erik." Christine stared at the woman and tilted her head in surprise.

"That's his name?" She asked softly, her voice changing. Her eyes flitted downward and she mouthed his name, trying it on her lips.

"You're confused, Christine." Madame Giry said to her, "You need rest." Looking at Meg, she motioned for her to help Christine up, her form now drooping from the dose of Laudanum. "Everything will be better in the morning."

"Had to save Raoul…" Christine slurred, hanging against Meg's small body. "Couldn't let him die for me…"

"I know." Madame Giry said, guiding the girl into her bedroom. Gently, she and Meg eased Christine onto the bed she and Meg shared. Christine's head lolled to the side, her dark lashes making a silken fan over her white, silken skin. "Goodnight sweetheart." Madame Giry kissed the girl's forehead before turning to her daughter.

"It is going to be a hard time for her, Meg, love." She said regretfully.

"I'll help her through." Meg promised, as Madame Giry kissed her cheek lovingly.

"I know you will, my girl."

"Erik…" Christine murmured once more before falling completely silent, her breath coming in evenly.

She was asleep.


	2. Room 214

**February 14, 1882 **

**2:00 P.M.  
**

"This is unacceptable." The Comtesse de Chagny said, pacing back and forth in her parlor while her son sat uncomfortably on the sofa. Her husband, the Comte, stood uneasily to the side and poked at the fire in the hearth. Their two daughters, Rosalind and Aline, twenty-three and twenty-five, respectively sat across the room, giving their younger brother a shared look of sympathy.

"It's nothing." Raoul assured his mother.

"That girl is not to set foot in this house again," The Comtesse insisted, "I've said from the start that she is nothing but trouble. She is an _actress_, for goodness sake!" Raoul was on his feet immediately.

"She is _not_ an actress! She is a singer!"

"Same thing." The woman replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Whatever her occupation, she is not a suitable choice for the future Comte de Chagny. Your engagement is ended as of today."

"You can't be serious!" Raoul cried, looking to his father for help. The man only looked away, avoiding his son's gaze. "This is not your choice! It is mine! I don't care that Christine is a performer. I love her!"

"Marriage is not about love." The Comtesse barked. "It is about position. Convenience. And she will give you neither of those things. She is uncultured, ungroomed and I will never accept her as your wife."

"And you agree with this, Father?" Raoul asked, pained. The Comte gave his son a wary gaze.

"You know I adore Christine, but…but…in terms of a match for you, she's…I don't think -"

"Oh you'll never speak against her!" Raoul cried, agonized. "I risked my life to have her and now you're to tell me I can't? Well, if you think it was all for nothing, it wasn't! I _am_ going to marry Christine Daae, Mother, and if that gets me disinherited, so be it then."

"You are so young, Raoul. You aren't thinking." The Comtesse said quietly.

"I don't want your money." Raoul ground out at his father. "Give it to your daughters." He threw his older sisters an anguished glance, "Lord knows it won't make up for the love you didn't give them, but they deserve it more." Rosalind and Aline both looked surprised by their brother's show of courage, but they said nothing, afraid of their mother's wrath. The Comtesse was a very calculating woman, from a long aristocratic bloodline, and she never missed a chance to criticize and control her children's lives. Aline had been married off three years prior to an English Earl, and Rosalind was this very moment, being primed to marry a Marquis.

"You would renounce your inheritance for that _girl_?" Raoul's mother asked in disgust, her nose in the air as if she smelled something unappealing.

"It isn't important to me." Raoul said sincerely. "I would die for her."

"That much is obvious." The Comtesse commented dryly, noting the rope burn around his neck that had become a painful scab over the course of the night. "It only means you are more a fool than I thought."

"Just because you are unhappy in your miserable life, Mother, does not mean that everyone else should be." Raoul said, unable to stop himself. His mother's eyes widened and flitted over to his father, who had turned his astonished gaze on Raoul. Without another word, his mother left the room, her heels clicking throughout the parlor. He dared his father to challenge him. "I _will_ marry Christine." He said. The Comte nodded silently.

"I won't disinherit you." Philbert said quietly. "But Raoul, I want you to be sure this is what you want before you rush into anything."

"I'll never want another woman." Raoul replied immediately. Philbert nodded sadly.

"But will she ever want another man?" He asked calmly, stabbing Raoul's heart with his greatest fear.

"All I need is Christine." He said, only this time his voice wavered.

* * *

Christine could not deny the relief she felt when her heart leapt at the sight of Raoul the morning after the opera disaster, which was immediately replaced by overwhelming guilt at the sight of his scabbed rope burn, peaking out from the opened collar of his shirt. As soon as he walked through the door, she flung herself into his arms and took in the calming smell of his cologne and the soft blue of his lovely eyes. His overly long, light brown hair lay like a silky curtain against his black morning coat.

"No cravat today." She observed into the warmth of his chest. He pressed his face into her hair.

"Sore." He replied, almost apologetically. Christine swallowed against another wave of shame.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"I'll never be sorry for what I did yesterday, Christine." He said, reaching inside his coat and withdrawing a small box. "Let me try this again." Opening it, he revealed a brand new ring, even more spectacular than the first engagement ring he'd given her on Christmas. "Will you wear it on your hand?" His voice was hesitant, but his eyes were pleading. She nodded, forcing herself to smile against the wave of nausea she felt as she allowed him to slide it to the base of her ring finger. "I want to marry you soon."

Unable to answer him, she stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Would you like some tea?" She asked, pulling him by the hand into the living room, where Madame Giry and Meg were sitting. They looked up expectantly as he entered and gave them a small bow.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, you are looking well this morning." Madame Giry replied with an approving nod.

"Much better, thank you." He said politely, sitting on the love seat. Christine sat beside him with her arm linked through his and made sure to look down, unable to meet his eyes. Meg was staring at the Vicomte with an odd sort of curiosity, studying him. Christine could not help but notice the wonder in her friend's eyes. Almost immediately, however, Meg looked away and the thought was forgotten.

"What are your intentions my lord?" Madame Giry asked, sipping her tea calmly. Raoul squeezed Christine's hand and looked down at her.

"I would like to marry within the month, if possible."

Christine's pulse began to beat very quickly in her neck and her breathing became labored. She was unable to speak, but somehow, she found the strength to nod. Every nod of her head felt like a knife she was stabbing into someone else. The haunted, desperate, hopeful look in the light eyes stayed perfectly focused in her mind.

"Perfect!" Raoul said, unable to detect the hesitation on her part. "It's settled. We shall be married in three weeks time."

The remainder of the afternoon was spent pleasant enough, with the two of them talking over the plans for the upcoming wedding, though Christine was ashamed that she was slightly relieved when they kissed goodbye that night. Everything was happening so fast, when not even a day before, they had been captive. Everything had been different yesterday. As she closed the door for the night, she noticed Madame Giry had retired to her room early and Meg was reading. Christine wandered aimlessly through the small flat, deciding at the last minute to have a glass of milk to help her sleep. When she opened the door to the rear porch, where they kept the fresh milk in the winter and picked up the jug.

To her surprise the mail seemed to have been stacked beneath it. Christine picked it up, realizing it was only one letter in an unsealed envelope. The writing was neat, meticulous and precise. The front of the envelope read: _Antoinette._

Frowning, Christine's curiosity got the better of her as she set the milk back down and put the note into her dress pocket. Shutting the door quietly, Christine told Meg she was going to wash up and locked the bathroom door behind her. With trembling hands, she pulled out the envelope again, closing her eyes against the dread she felt. Madame Giry made no secret that she was familiar with the Phantom, and this letter was no doubt left in haste and secrecy on her doorstep. Unless Madame Giry was conducting a secret affair with a man, this letter must be from the masked man.

_Antoinette-_

_I shall keep this short. I have escaped. I am staying at the Mason du Repos. Room 214 if you need to reach me ONLY in Emergency. For all our sakes, tell Christine I'm dead. No doubt it could happen any moment. _

_E_

Christine could barely read the final line of the note as tears blurred her vision again. Clutching the note to her heart, she put it back into her pocket and decided not to tell Madame Giry of it.

* * *

**1:00 A.M. **

Christine waited until Meg fell asleep beside her before she eased her way out of the bed and slipped her stockings and shoes on. Quietly, she pulled on her simplest dress and coat and crept from the bedroom. Scrawling a quick note to Madame Giry, she cautiously opened the front door and stepped out into the Paris street. She was glad when a hansom approached and stopped, seeing her there.

"A bit late to be going out m'lady." The driver said with a smile. She swallowed nervously, the light catching on her engagement ring.

"I need to get to the _Mason du Repos._" She whispered, pressing a coin into the man's hand. He nodded, impressed with the payment and helped her into the carriage. Looking at her hand, she thought better of it and quickly removed the ring, thrusting it into the inner pocket of her overcoat.

The ride was surprisingly short and at the sight of the small Hotel, her heart began to pound like bass drums in her chest. It horrified her to know that the driver obviously thought she was selling her body or something of the like. She was glad she'd opted to wear a hat at the last minute to shield her face. Entering the dim hotel, the concierge was there behind the counter, an old, tired looking man with wild tufts of white hair around his bald head.

"Need a room, Mademoiselle?" He asked, perching his spectacles on the edge of his nose. She shook her head, biting her lip.

"Where is room two fourteen?" She asked softly. His eyes widened slightly, the thick, white and gray eyebrows raising.

"Down this hall and to the left, toward the end. He didn't seem like the type who would want - er - visitors…" The man said, eyeing her. Christine took in a long breath.

"I'm his…sister." She lied, hating how her voice went up whenever she lied. It seemed to satisfy the man, because he nodded. She smiled briefly at him, before walking down the dark hallway to the door she was looking for. Christine stared at the number on the door for a full five minutes before she found the courage to knock. He came immediately after the first knock.

"I didn't call for room service." He said, and Christine almost jumped at the void of emotion in his voice. She was thankful for the hat that he couldn't see her face. "Are you lost, girl?" He asked impatiently, when she didn't answer.

"Yes." She said hoarsely, not lying. She found the nerve to face him and looked up, removing her hat. The look on his face was an odd mixture of horror and surprise. In truth, he looked like he might be ill.

"Christine?" He asked, almost as if he needed confirmation it was really her.

"Hello, Erik." Christine said in an even voice, "Aren't you going to invite me in?" She watched his inner struggle as he stepped aside for her to enter the room and shut the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly, staying with his back against the door as if he were trying to get as far away from her as possible. "How did you find me?"

Silently, she withdrew the letter from her pocket and showed it to him. A look of pain crossed his masked face and he closed his eyes.

"You weren't supposed to see it. I can't believe she would betray me like this! Why would she show you?"

"She didn't." Christine assured him quickly. "I found it first. Under the milk."

He cursed sharply, causing her to start.

"You can't trust anyone to do the job right anymore." He muttered, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. Tiredly, he looked at her. "Would you like something to drink?" He asked wearily. It was odd, seeing him act this way, watching him act like a normal human being.

"Some wine please." She replied, sinking into a chair with her coat still on. With a short nod, he moved to the drink stand and opened a bottle of red wine. For himself, he poured a cup of tea.

"Why are you here?" He asked, handing her the glass and swallowing hard with their fingers brushed together. Christine felt her face crumple, as she reached inside her pocket and pulled out the new engagement ring.

"Raoul wants to marry me in three weeks." She said.

"Congratulations." He said dryly. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Putting the ring back into her pocket, she shrugged helplessly, taking a long, heady sip of the red wine.

"I thought so." She agreed, blinking back tears. "I don't know…it's all…I'm so confused!"

"You're sixteen." He reminded her.

"Seventeen now." She said, sniffling. Christine heard him sigh and a handkerchief was presented to her. Gratefully, she accepted it and wiped her eyes. "Where are you going to go?" She asked. A flicker of pain passed through his eyes, which were a striking shade of green and gold.

"I haven't decided yet." He admitted.

"Don't go." She said, standing and setting the goblet aside. He looked down at her, drained.

"If you're here out of guilt, you shouldn't be, Christine. I was the one who told you to leave." He stepped away from her as if he could no longer bear to be near her.

"I chose you and you sent me away." Christine said, "Which means that you either never loved me, or you were too frightened to accept that you'd won."

"Does Antoinette know you're here?" He asked, backing further away from her. She shook her head, advancing on him with purpose.

"No. She doesn't even know _you're_ here." She reminded him.

"What do you want from me?" He asked. "Do you want me to beg you to stay with me? I won't." His voice was firm, "I'm through begging. You obviously have to sort through your feelings, but if you want my advice, I think you should marry the Vicomte." He laughed ruefully. "It feels like a sin to even say that, but it's true. You'll be better off. I'm a murderer, a criminal and a fugitive. Any chance I could have had for a normal life with you, I ruined with my idiocy last evening." His eyes betrayed his words, but he went on, "Go back to Raoul, Christine."

Her eyes moved downward to his hands. Carefully, she took his hands into hers. They were larger than she had thought and he could practically cover one of her hands completely in his.

"I love you too, you know." Christine admitted, painfully. "I should have told you that before. Before all this madness. I suppose it's why I never was able to give you up completely." Meeting his eyes, she managed a small smile.

"You have to leave." He said softly, achingly. She shook her head.

"This feels right." She insisted.

"I want you to leave." He told her, even less convincingly.

"I'm not going anywhere." Christine said.

"_What _do you _want_?" He pleaded once again. Keeping her eyes on his, she swallowed.

"I want you to kiss me."

He stared at her in wide eyed astonishment.

"Wh-what?"

"Kiss me, Erik." She demanded gently. A pained looked crossed his face again.

"Antoinette told you my name." It was not a question, but a statement. Christine only nodded. He closed his eyes momentarily. "I never thought I would hear my name on your lips."

"Are you going to kiss me?"

"I don't know how…" He whispered. A sudden burst of bravery swept through her body and she put her hands on his shoulders, guiding him to her. She rose to her toes to meet him and put her hand on the back of his head, over his smooth, black hair. It was thicker than she remembered, a lovely mass of ebony hair. A strange thought occurred to her as she realized if it had not been for the deformity, he would have been a very handsome and sought after man. She hardly noticed the difference any more. In the months since she had first unmasked him, she had become accustomed to the look of it. The shock had worn off and it was simply him, who, until this very day was a nameless face.

_Erik_.

He had a real name, and it made all the difference to her. It fit him. Christine ignored the nagging dread of having to face Raoul eventually, but she decided to worry about it later, knowing Raoul would one day recover. He was handsome, privileged, he would find someone else easily. It hurt her to think of losing him too, for she truly did love Raoul as well, but what could she do?

Gently, she coaxed Erik to relax, barely pressing their lips together. He was wrought with tension. He was trembling, she could feel. Or was that her? Patiently, she brought his flailing arms to rest on her waist as she let her arms wrap around his neck. Instinct seemed to take charge as she felt herself being slightly lifted off the ground and found it was mildly uncomfortable to kiss him, ironically because his mask was in the way. She gave a little sigh of frustration and he set her down immediately.

"What is it? What have I done?" He asked, his eyes wide with terror. She smiled reassuringly at him.

"Nothing." She said, squeezing his hands. "It's…your mask. It's in the way." His eyes grew very wide when she said that. "May I remove it?"

Hesitantly she reached up to it, watching his face as he made no effort to stop her removing it. Setting it carefully aside, she nodded.

"Much better." He only stared at her in disbelief as she removed her heavy overcoat.

"I must be dreaming…or dead." He murmured, closing his eyes as she came back to him, drawing him back down to her, enjoying the full warm contact of their faces. When they pulled apart again, she was satisfied.

"I think we should stop for tonight." She said quietly, leading him by the hand to the edge of the bed.

"For tonight? What are you talking about?" He asked. Christine laid a hesitant hand on his twisted cheek. He flinched at the contact, but did not pull away.

"Look at you. You're exhausted. You haven't slept." She said accusingly. He did not deny it. Without another word, she removed his coat and vest, while he stared down at her incredulously. "The shirt too." She said, starting on his buttons and cravat. He stopped her and did it himself. To her surprise, he was very broad and muscular, more so than he looked like he would be. Tossing the garments aside, she pushed the improper thought from her mind and helped him remove his shoes and stockings. "Get some sleep, Erik. I am not going anywhere. I'll be here when you get up."

"What are you going to do?" He asked, lying down.

"I'm going to have a cup of tea and watch you sleep." She replied easily, sitting in the bedside chair. It was the most comfortable she'd felt in a long time. She could see he needed reassurance and pushed the thick hair back from his forehead soothingly.

"Christine, I love you." He said hopefully. Nodding, she kissed his forehead and then his cheek, the flawed one.

"Sleep. God knows you need it. And a good meal, but we'll worry about that when you wake."

"You're really going to stay?"

"I'm really going to stay." She echoed. "Goodnight."

When she looked at him again, he was already asleep.

* * *

**This is corny isn't it? Ugh. **


	3. Married

**If you are confused by this, you should be. This story is going to jump around quite a bit. We've gone three weeks into the future from the previous chapter. All will be explained. **

* * *

**March 5, 1882**

**9:00 A.M.**

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass window of the chapel. Women gathered in the small room at the rear of the Cathedral, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The bride, Christine Daae, stood beside her guardian, Madame Giry and her three bridesmaids. No one could deny that she looked beautiful, if not a bit pale. Her cheeks were slightly gaunt and there were shadows beneath her eyes, but still she was lovely. Her dark curls were pinned elegantly, creating a magnificent crowning halo. The lace slip of veil lay perfectly placed over her hair.

Christine kept to herself, staying near the window, hardly hearing the conversations around her. She heard Madame Giry reprimand Meg for bouncing excitedly. Madame Giry urged a bouquet of lilies into Christine's hands, studying her closely.

"It's time, dear." She said, kissing Christine's cheek and pulling the veil to cover her face. Meg looked up at her, giving her a nod of encouragement. One of the other two bridesmaids arranged her train and patted her arm.

"Welcome to the family, Christine."

Christine managed to smile, blinking rapidly at the sudden tears of gratitude.

"Rosalind, Aline…you have been so kind to me. I fear I have caused your family so much grief." She looked down regretfully. "Your mother doesn't accept me."

"She hardly accepts her own children," Aline explained gently. "Pay it no mind. You will be Lady Christine, Vicomtesse de Chagny within the hour."

It sounded foreign to her…unwelcome almost. In her constant love of Raoul, she had never considered how things were bound to change once they had married. She would be titled, expected to act and look a certain way. The simple daughter of a violinist would become Countess one day.

"Everyone is waiting." Madame Giry chimed in, impatiently, ushering the girls out the door. A worried look passed through her blue eyes. "This is the right thing." She said touching Christine's shoulder. Nodding, Christine took her hand.

"I know that. I am just not feeling well this morning. I didn't sleep much last night." Christine said, staring into her flowers.

"Are you nervous?" Madame Giry asked. Christine shook her head.

"This is Raoul. I love him. I've always wanted this." She assured her mother figure, but even to her own ears it sounded hollow and false.

One hour later, Christine Daae ceased to exist and was replaced with Christine, Vicomtesse de Chagny, wife of Raoul, and to her joy, she was ecstatic to feel his hand in hers and to see his light eyes beside her. She ignored the stab of pain in her heart as they made their way through the congratulatory crowd to their waiting carriage.

* * *

The couple honeymooned in Le Havre, the very place they had first met. They spent the days walking along the cold beach, watching the winter sun set below the ocean. They held hands, and kissed often, appearing to be as any other newlyweds. The nights were an entirely different story.

They settled into their room before a fire and made love before falling asleep in each other's arms. Christine slept deeply while Raoul tossed and turned, flitting from nightmare to nightmare. Mostly, he dreamed of his older brother, Philippe. Philippe would have been thirty this year, but had not lived to see twenty-six. Raoul had been away at school when he'd learned of Philippe's death. Suicide. His sisters had wrote that Philippe had been involved with the former diva, Sorelli, at the Opera Populaire and had proposed to her. It had been shortly after that, that he'd learned of Sorelli's unfaithfulness and he'd shot himself in the head, immediately following which, Raoul had inherited the title of Viscount de Chagny. Sorelli had resigned from the opera and Carlotta had replaced her.

The death of his older brother had deeply wounded Raoul, and created a void in his lonely life that he longed to fill. All his life, Raoul had lived practically in isolation, alone with his books and his fiddle. Before he'd been the Vicomte, his parents had hardly had use for him and he spent most of his days with his Governess and the servants when he was not at school. He was a quiet sort, and it was difficult for him to make friends as a child because he'd had a stammer, which he had thankfully grown out of. When Philippe was gone, he was immediately brought back home and continued his tutelage at home and had been groomed to be what his brother already had been.

Choosing Christine for his bride had been a direct parallel to Philippe's choice, and he suspected that was another reason his parents were against the match. If his father had an opinion, he never voiced it, and his mother was so controlling that he never spoke against her. Finding Christine was like finding the missing piece that Philippe's death had created in his life. Once she had come back into his world, everything seemed to come together.

Their wedding night had been special, because both of them were experiencing things for the first time. To his relief, Christine hadn't seemed to be in any pain as they'd come together for the first time. He'd been told that it was unpleasant the first time for a woman and that she usually even bled. Being wary of blood, he was grateful nothing like that had happened and they had been able to thoroughly enjoy it.

His dreams were a myriad of things ranging from Philippe's pale face in death to having a rope around his neck on the brink of death. The faint line of where the rope had burned his skin remained even though he could not feel it any longer. Sometimes he imagined the rope around his neck and seeing Philippe waiting for him at the end of the tunnel, calling out to him. It was then that Raoul would sit up in the bed, panting and sweaty. Pressing his face into his clammy hands, he wept until his chest hurt and his shoulders ached. Christine slept on, oblivious to his agony in her slumber. He watched the way her long curling hair fanned out over the thick, feather pillows and her face was completely devoid of the worry that constantly showed on her face in consciousness.

How he loved her. She was the anchor that kept him sane in a world of chaos.

In the final days of their honeymoon, Christine showed signs of weariness. It had been over a month since their wedding. Raoul thought it best to end the trip and take her home to Paris to see a doctor, to which she protested she was fine.

They found out together on the first truly warm day of spring, that they were going to be parents. The doctor projected that the child should arrive around Christmastime and that all seemed well with Christine's pregnancy.

Raoul was relieved when his mother's cold disposition toward his wife softened a bit when the Countess learned that Christine was carrying what could very well be the future Comte de Chagny in her belly. His sisters were delighted with the prospect of a little niece or nephew to spoil as neither of them had yet mothered their own child. Christine glowed in her delicate condition and thrilled in telling Madame Giry and Meg of the news. To Raoul's surprise, the ballet mistress gave her charge a tight little smile and said a quick congratulations, while her daughter gushed on to Christine about her own excitement.

Raoul quite adored little Meg Giry. She was a precocious sixteen year old girl with an abundance of waving gold hair and big blue eyes. Though she and Christine were the same age, Meg seemed quite younger than Christine, though Raoul suspected she was much more clever than she let on. When he had been anguished over Christine's ties to the Phantom of the Opera, Meg had helped him to understand why, and he would always be grateful to the small ballerina for her kindness.

Raoul was extremely protective of his wife during her pregnancy, though she seemed a bit frightened.

"Are you frightened?" Raoul asked her one night during the late summer, when she had begun to become round. Christine shook her head.

"Not at all…It's sort of amazing, this feeling of having someone move about inside me, but I'm not scared." She replied, sitting up in the bed with the covers at her waist and her long hair hanging loose. "It's just," She sighed heavily. "My mother died in childbirth and…and…"

"And you're afraid you could go much the same?" Raoul finished for her. Biting her lip, Christine nodded. Comfortingly, he took her hand into his, pressing his lips to the smooth skin. "You won't. You have the best doctors…more things available to you. Our child will lack for nothing, especially a mother." Christine rewarded him with a rare, wide smile and put her hand over her middle.

"Do you want to feel?" She asked quietly. Dazed, Raoul felt himself nod and let her guide his hand to the spot she felt best. Sure enough, there was a soft, but sure twitch beneath the flesh. Raoul felt his eyes fill with tears at the feel of his child within Christine. It was beautiful.

"What are we going to call him or her?" He asked after a moment. She looked shy for a moment, but a small, hesitant smile curved her rosy lips as she met his eyes. He loved the color of her eyes, which were a mixture of gingerbread and chocolate to match her hair.

"Could we call him Gustave? For my father?" She asked, looking down.

"Of course, Christine. I think your father would have liked that." Raoul replied, squeezing her hand. "But what if it is a girl?"

"I hadn't considered yet." Christine replied with a shrug. "I suppose that I feel so strongly that he is a boy, that I can't imagine him as a girl."

Raoul laughed at her innocence, pulling her into his arms.

"Well, I have never known your instincts to be wrong, so I will trust your opinion. Gustave it is."

As her girth expanded, Christine seemed to become even lovelier, a healthy glow making her radiate happiness. She smiled often and, proving his mother wrong, she had been widely accepted in society. People were so intrigued by her past that they seemed to flock immediately to her. One minor disappointment for her came in early September, when the new season at the opera house began and Messieurs Firmin and Andrè informed her that they thought it best if she did not return to the opera once she had given birth. Apologetically, they explained that they could not afford another mishap. Christine, as always, was understanding and courteous to the two gentlemen, graciously telling them that with the baby, it would have been impossible to return. Raoul knew her too well though. He could see she was hurt badly by their rejection of her. Music had always been very prominent in both of their lives. It was their initial tie to each other.

Monsieur Daaè had been hired when Raoul had turned fourteen to give him lessons on the violin. His parents had been very proud to have such a famous musician teach their son to play.

When the violinist had arrived, Raoul had been out by the beach in the chilly spring air, watching the waves break. A flash of red fabric floating in the water had caught his eye, followed by a small voice.

"Please help me!"

Turning to look, Raoul saw a tiny, dark haired girl standing on the sand, pointing to where the scarf was crashing through the cold water. She couldn't have been more than ten years old.

"Don't worry, I'll get it!" Raoul called to her in his ever changing pubescent voice. Braving the icy cold water, he waded nearly waist deep before he caught sight of it again. He lunged forward, gritting his teeth and caught the wet scarf in his hands. When he returned to the shore, he was shivering and his hair was practically frozen to his forehead, but he grinned triumphantly at the little girl and handed her the scarf. She looked up at him with grateful brown eyes, wiser than her years.

"Thank you." She said shyly, clutching the cold scarf in her diminutive gloved hands.

"What is your name?" He asked, taking her by the hand and leading her toward the house.

"Lotte." She replied airily. "Well, my _real _name is Christine, but Papa calls me Lotte because my middle name is Charlotte, after my grandmother…" She stopped herself. "I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"A bit." Raoul replied with a small smile. It was almost like having a friend with this intelligent little creature clinging to his hand. "I like it." He assured her, and watched her visibly relax.

"Oh good. I am forever grateful to you, Monsieur…" She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I don't know your name."

"I am Raoul de Chagny." He told her and her eyes lit up.

"Oh! You're the boy my father came to teach!" She cried excitedly. "We'll be great friends."

"Friends?" He repeated as if it were a foreign concept. At school, he had friends, but most of them lived so far away that he never saw them except during the school year.

"Of course! That is, if you don't mind being friends with an annoying nine year old girl!" She giggled, charming him. He felt the funniest urge to touch one of her loose curls as they approached the house. His mother was the first to see his condition as he slopped in the door, soaked to the bone and holding the hand of a strange little girl.

"Mother," He said, managing to keep the trembling out of his voice, "This is Lotte, she is Monsieur Daae's daughter." Gustave Daaè, seeing the state the boy was in, gave his daughter a firm look.

"What happened?"

"It was _nothing_ Papa," The child replied in a voice far too mature for a nine year old, "My scarf flew off my neck and Raoul retrieved it for me." The man nodding in understanding.

"It was her mother's scarf," He explained apologetically, "She never goes without it."

The first night, after supper, Raoul showed little Lotte the attic where he spent time avoiding the critical eyes of his parents. In a far corner near the small window overlooking the sea, was a collection of books and an old armchair that he had dragged to the window himself so that he could watch the sea and read. He lit a few candles and told her about the games he and his siblings used to play in this room. Their favorite was Pirates. Raoul was always the hero since he was the youngest, which he hated, while Philippe got to be the evil Pirate. His sisters took turns playing the Princess.

Lotte looked around quietly, taking in the dusty old space. To most people, it wasn't much, but he had fond memories up here. She didn't say a word against it, to her credit and she actually smiled at him.

"This is wonderful!" She exclaimed.

"You like it?" Raoul replied in surprise.

"_Like _it? It's perfect for storytelling and playing and…watching!" She spun around, making her pinafore billow out around her and her curls tangle in her face. "I've never had an attic. We travel so much, that we don't have a house." For the smallest of seconds, he could have sworn that she looked sad. "After my mother died giving birth to my brother, we sold the house and Papa decided that he would be a performer. He taught me to sing along with him sometimes too." Her eyes twinkled. "Would you like to hear a song?"

"Oh, yes." Raoul nodded, enthusiastically, sitting in his chair while the small girl stood confidently before him.

"This song is called _D'où viens-tu, bergère,_ do you know it?" Raoul nodded, immediately recognizing the Christmas song.

_D'où viens-tu, bergère?_

_D'où viens-tu?_

_Je viens de l'étable_

_De m'y promener!_

_J'ai vu un miracle,_

_Qui vient d'arriver!_

_Est-il beau, bergère?_

_Est-il beau?_

_Plus beau que la lune,_

_Aussi le Soleil._

_Jamais dans le monde_

_Onvit son pareil_

Her voice was delicate and sweet, like a tiny seraphic angel. Raoul liked this girl immensely, appreciative of her talkative nature. Most people drew away from him when they learned of his shyness and his stammer, which only broke through anymore when he became nervous or frightened. Not to mention, his voice would crack appallingly sometimes on certain words lately and he would flush in embarrassment. Lotte was skinny, lanky and in the odd stage between small child and young woman, but it was easy to tell that she would one day be very pretty, though he suspected she would always remain small.

On the second day, Raoul had his first violin lesson with Daaè, while Lotte sat to the side and watched in interested silence. Afterward, impressed with his progress, Daaè caught him after he put the violin away.

"Raoul, I have never seen such potential after one lesson…you are the most promising student I have ever taught." The man said, smiling warmly down at him. "I think I should expect great things from you."

Raoul managed a nod.

"Th-thank you sir…" He said, feeling a warmth come over him as Lotte grinned from behind her father.

That night was the first time Gustave told the children a story. They were together in the attic, discussing when it might be warm outside again. It was a stormy, dark night and the rain hit the small window angrily, making it difficult to see the rocking ocean. An array of snacks had been assembled on a blanket that Raoul had placed over the dusty, wooden floor and they were having an odd little picnic of sorts. Daaè stepped into the tiny room, amused, and made his way to the chair.

"Would you like to hear a story, children?"

"Oh, please Papa!" Lotte cried eagerly, turning to Raoul. "Papa tells the best stories…tell him about the Angel!" Gustave smiled fondly at his precocious child and gestured for them to sit at his feet.

"Well then," He began, "Little Lotte let her mind wander. She dreamed of magical places and enchanted forests and castles and crowns. Her father had to leave on business often and she was a very lonely little girl, so to pass the time, she lost herself in her own imagination.

One such time, Lotte's father had been gone longer than usual and Lotte began to worry. She cried to herself in the night, wishing for her father's safe return. In her sleep that night, she heard a voice and woke. "Do not fear." Sang the voice, "I am the Angel of Music and I have come to protect you." It was the most beautiful voice Lotte had ever heard and when she looked around the room, there was nobody there. "Angel," She said, "Is my father well?" "He will return to you by morning. Sleep child and I will protect you." The Angel sang her to sleep and when she woke up, Little Lotte heard voices in the parlor. Her father had returned home."

The nights continued this way, with Daaè telling the children a story every evening, always about Lotte and her Angel of Music. As the weeks passed and summer came to an end, Daaè had become tired often and Raoul noticed he had trouble breathing through his lessons. His skin became a startling shade of white and his lips were pale too. He no longer looked like the vibrant man that he'd been in the spring. During one of his lessons, he collapsed and Raoul ran for help. The doctor was sent for and it was determined that Daaè had consumption and was near death. Arrangements were made for Daaè's old friend, Antoinette Giry to come and retrieve the girl upon his death.

It was a quiet, clear August night when Daaè succumbed to the sickness. Lotte emerged from the sickroom, clutching Giry's hand and looking younger than Raoul had ever seen her. He went to her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry, Lotte." He said quietly and she pulled away, looking up at him with red, swollen little eyes.

"Don't call me that." She sighed heavily and looked at her feet. "My name is Christine." Meeting his eyes once more, she sniffled and he watched the large chocolate brown orbs well with tears. "I shall miss you, Raoul. Perhaps one day we'll see each other again."

"We will." He promised, watching the woman lead her to the waiting carriage. Christine looked back once more at him with a feeble wave. He waved back, watching the carriage until it was around the corner.

In mid-October, the trees were in full color, rich with reds and yellows. Christine was carrying much larger than Raoul had expected and he could not help but wonder how she would look come Christmas when she was ready to deliver. He had been called out that afternoon to meet with his financial advisors, to which Christine assured him that she was going to rest as she was so tired lately. He put her to bed before he left with stern instructions to the staff to watch over her closely.

In the midst of his meeting to discuss investing in the machinery business, Raoul's driver arrived, harried.

"My lord, the Vicomtesse's time has come! She is birthing the babe as we speak!" He said when he was shown in. Panic filled Raoul's chest. It was too early, the baby was not due for another two months! Excusing himself quickly, he let his driver take him home and found Christine gasping in labor pains in bed. She looked up with fear in her eyes as the doctor huddled over her.

"It's early…" He said, approaching her and kissing her hand. She nodded, biting her lip against another pain.

"Here is the head. Good work, dear…now brace yourself, the shoulders are going to hurt." The doctor told her helpfully. Bearing down, Christine took Raoul's hand and held it tightly as she pushed, squeezing her eyes so hard that a tear came out the side and made its way down her cheek.

"It's too early." Raoul protested again, his eyes filling with tears as he swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed his fear aside.

"And one more big push, my lady." The doctor instructed. Christine let out a scream of agony as she pushed so hard that her lips turned white. It was followed immediately by a sharp infant cry, to Raoul's relief. He expected to see a tiny, premature baby placed in Christine's arms. His relief was replaced by shock as a quite healthy sized baby boy with a thick thatch of black hair was presented to the parents.

"He's so big…" Raoul said quietly, staring at his son as they placed him into his mother's arms. Christine stared down at the baby in mild confusion, and Raoul could have sworn he saw her swallow hard.

"Sometimes we miscalculate these things." The doctor explained, cleaning up. "Your baby is very healthy. Just a few weeks early, by the looks of him." He smiled and said his congratulations before packing his things. Raoul nearly staggered in this revelation and stared at Christine as if he had never seen her before.

When she looked up at him, her eyes were full of guilt.


	4. Loss

**October 21, 1887**

The Chagny house was in chaos. Servants hurried about, cleaning and taking orders from the housekeeper, Therese. The foyer was bustling with people bringing in decorations and food, among the vast amount of gifts that were being delivered from friends and family. It was a very important day for the Chagny family, for the young heir to the Chagny title was five years old. The Vicomte was due home at any moment from a morning appointment with a business associate and Christine was overseeing the preparations as best she could.

The family had just learned that they would be expecting a new family member by the middle of the following year and, to her relief, some of the closeness that she felt had gone from her marriage had returned with the happy news. Not that they were an unhappy couple, quite the contrary, in fact. Raoul lavished Christine with gifts and affection and was even more loving to their son, Gustave.

Gustave had been a blessing from the moment he'd entered their lives with his thick black hair and bright green eyes. He was musically inclined, naturally, and Raoul believed in nurturing his God given talents, so he had interviewed scores of tutors until he and Christine had found a man who was satisfactory. Tobin was his name, Edward Tobin. He was an older man, in his late sixties and was very mild mannered but had a way of teaching which made Gustave not only learn how to play, but why it was necessary to play well. He had begun piano lessons six months earlier and since he had learned to read music, had taught himself to play songs which Christine herself had never mastered.

Recently, Christine had heard Gustave practicing a song she did not recognize and stood inside the music room to watch him play. His small fingers glided with ease over the ivory keys of their beloved piano. The music was beautiful, though she had no idea where it had come from. When she inquired after Gustave had finished, he looked up at her with his large, serious eyes and said, "I made it up." She had elected not to tell Raoul about that incident, for she was unsure if she could even look at him in the eyes when she informed him that their son could write music at four years old.

Christine had never seen someone who was so infinitely good inside as her son. He never ceased to amaze his parents in his acceptance of anyone, which sometime proved to be a nuisance as when he had disappeared during a walk through the park and the frantic parents had found him sitting beside an old beggar man, calmly offering the few coins he had in his tiny pocket. Raoul had gently explained that it was dangerous to talk to strangers and Gustave had been unable to grasp why, saying the old man was lonely and needed a family. Like any other child, Gustave had a temper so often, but it was mild in comparison to the tantrums of other children. Sometimes, however, Christine feared that her boy was too introverted. He preferred to be alone with his thoughts and his music, which was why Christine and Raoul were eager to give him a brother or sister to play with.

When Christine and Raoul had sat him down to tell him about Christine's pregnancy, he had stared serenely at the two of them and waited patiently for one of them to find the courage to talk. It had been Christine who had finally spoken.

"We have some very important news to tell you, Gustave." She said cautiously. Raoul nodded, kneeling before the boy.

"You are going to be an older brother." He explained in his gentle way. Gustave's eyes widened in surprise, but a small smile curved his lips, then disappeared into a frown as he looked at Raoul.

"If it's another boy, will you love him more than you love me, Father?" He asked quietly. Raoul looked pained at the thought.

"No one could ever take your place, Gustave." He assured him. "We may love him as much, but never more."

Christine had inhaled deeply, feeling her chest ache with the guilt she felt every time she saw Raoul and Gustave together. As the boy had grown bigger, it had become very apparent which parent he favored and though she suspected Raoul saw it too, though she never addressed the possibility. If Raoul doubted anything, however, he had yet to show it and nobody who met their family could deny how much Raoul loved his son.

"M'lady," Therese said, curtseying to Christine as the bakers brought in the three tiered cake for the party, "Where would you like the cake to be set?"

"The long table in the ballroom is fine. I want the gifts arranged around it." She instructed. The three servants nodded and turned toward the ballroom as the front door swung open. Raoul entered, removing his hat. Christine could not help but smile at the way he looked. Since they had married, he had cut his hair and it waved pleasantly around his face, making him look even more handsome than before. He noticed her standing there and grinned, coming to her and kissing her lips.

"The gift is set." He whispered conspiratorially to her and she grinned into the lapel of his coat.

"Wonderful." Christine replied. "He's going to love it." Kissing her cheek, he pulled back.

"I need to go change clothes before people begin to arrive." He ran up the stairs, disappearing around a corner as the doorbell rang. Since she was standing right beside the door, she opened it herself and found herself staring at no one. Confused, she looked down and found a wrapped gift on the step. Quickly, she retrieved it and handed it off to one of the servants to set with the others.

As the guests began to file in, Christine felt sadness in the pit of her stomach, for she dearly missed Madame Giry and Meg who had moved away ages ago when Meg had won a part in the London ballet. Though she had visited them sometimes, it had been a great loss for Christine who had been used to seeing the two of them every day for most of her life. At twenty-one years old, Meg had become a beauty with a head of hair most aristocratic women would have killed for. Even Christine, who knew she was pretty, could not compare to the delicate beauty of Meg. In their letters to each other, Meg told her of the hundreds of suitors she'd had since moving to London, but she always said that no matter how wonderful they seemed, she always found them lacking. They were the only family Christine had known, and though she had friends, she felt alone.

In the aristocracy, women turned on each other in an instant and though Christine herself had never been victim to their cruelties, she suspected she had been the subject of their idle gossip. It had been no secret what had happened that night nearly six years before when the chandelier had fallen and taken the lives of innocent people. Since the incident, the opera had re-opened with success, but Christine herself had never been able to set foot inside the building even though she and Raoul donated generously to the company.

In some ways, Christine missed performing onstage. Even though she had had few leading roles, she had always loved even performing in the chorus. Something about singing in front of an audience had freed her and she could not truly deny that she did not sorely miss it. There were other things she missed, though she would never voice them aloud. She missed the times when she and the other ballerinas would use their breaks to explore the various unused rooms and closets. She missed the full length mirror in the prima donna's dressing room and the little vanity with the gold wired chair. She missed music lessons before bed. One of her fondest memories as a girl had been to stand in front of that mirror and listen to the luminous voice instruct her, so sure and strong.

Quickly, she pushed the thought out of her mind and closed her eyes to the hurt that throbbed in her chest. The warmth of a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and the familiar smell of Raoul's cologne calmed her. She allowed herself to lean back against him for support and smiled.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" He asked into her ear as they watched their son run to and fro with the other children at his party.

"I feel fine. Just a little sad that my baby is five years old today." She smiled up at him. "Can you believe it?" Christine noticed the tiniest flicker of pain in Raoul's eyes as he nodded.

"It's seems like he was just born. It really was a miracle, wasn't it?" He mused, "Being born two months early and so big and healthy." Christine looked away from him back to her lovely son who had been scooped up by one of his aunts and was being kissed on the cheek. Biting her lip, she studied Gustave's features. His hair was a thick ebony that had a fair amount of curl. His eyes were large and green and shining, so unlike hers. It was his smile that was most striking to her, however. So unfamiliar and yet, she felt like she knew it all the same. He looked in his parents' direction, both of his cheeks rosy with excitement. Christine felt Raoul squeeze her hand.

"I think it's time to give Gustave his gift." He said, pulling her forward to make an announcement. Everyone gathered in a far corner of the ballroom as a curtain was moved. Sitting on the marble floor was a magnificent brand new grand piano with a red ribbon on it. On the bench was a leather book with blank staves for writing inside it. Embroidered into the cover was the name, _Gustave. _Enthralled, the boy turned to look up at his parents in ecstasy.

"But we have a piano already." He said, looking as if he were afraid to touch the beautiful instrument.

"We do," Raoul agreed, "But it is an antique and since you love it so much, we thought you should be able to practice on one as fine as any professional might play."

"Why don't you play something for us, darling?" Christine offered, gesturing toward the bench. Tentatively, her child sat down at the bench and began to play a well known, simple piano piece. He certainly was not an expert yet, but he had a natural talent that could not be denied. After he had finished and had returned to his fun, Christine smiled up at her husband.

"Thank you, Raoul." She told him sincerely. He smiled tightly down at her.

"There is very little I wouldn't do for you or our children." At this, he gently brushed his fingertips over her middle.

As the party finished and the guests began to depart, Christine searched through the crowd to find Gustave and didn't see him. Frowning, she excused herself and moved up the stairs to check in the music room, where he usually retired to. To her surprise, he was not in there, nor in his bedroom. He knew better than to go outside by himself, especially after dark. Trying to ignore the panic in her belly, she ran to look for Raoul. He was speaking with one of his sisters' husbands. He looked up and met her eyes, seeing the panic and removed himself from conversation.

"Christine…?" He inquired. She tried to keep her voice from quavering.

"I can't find Gustave." She whispered. Raoul's face paled and he turned to grab a nearby servant, instructing him to have the staff look for Gustave. Taking Christine's hand, he led her back into the ballroom, where the two of them began to look around the tables and wrapping paper to no avail. Christine could not ignore the dread she felt as she began to panic in earnest.

"He's not here!" She cried, half hysterical, flinging wrapping paper as she tore through the room.

"We'll find him, Christine." Raoul assured her.

"I can't lose him, too!" She cried without thinking. "I _can't!_" Raoul reeled as if he'd been punched in the gut, but continued to try and comfort her.

"Milord!" Therese's voice came from the doorway. "We've found him. Louis found him.!" The parents did not take a moment to even breathe a sigh of relief, for they rushed out into the kitchen area where the boy was standing, looking up with frightened eyes. Forgetting her anger with her son, Christine flew forward and pulled Gustave into her arms, sobbing.

"Where were you?" She cried into his hair.

"I thought I saw something…" He said quietly. "I went out the French doors in the ballroom. I didn't know they were locked." Gustave began to cry. "I'm sorry, Maman, Father. Are you angry?"

"Gustave, you know better than to leave the house by yourself." Raoul scolded, though the relief in his voice could not be denied. As Christine pulled back to look into her child's face, she noticed he was clutching something in his hand.

"Darling, what is that?" She asked, taking the item from him.

"It was a gift. Isn't it pretty?" He asked. Christine studied the expensive looking thing. It was a figurine of an angel. It became obvious upon closer inspection that it was a music box when it began to play a lilting little tune.

"Who gave you this?" She asked, trying to see if there was a name engraved from where it had been made. _Donovan's._ She recognized the name of a local store that sold collectible trinkets.

"It didn't have a name on it, but I liked the wrapping paper." Gustave said in such an innocent way, her heart throbbed faster. "I'm going to put her on my night table so I can listen to her song before I sleep." He rushed past his parents to go place his present in his bedroom. Seeing the questioning look on Raoul's face, she shrugged.

"Children. They only care about what's inside the gift, not who it's from." A small chuckle left her as she stood up. He did not smile at her, and she swallowed before moving to join her son in his room.

"Are you happy with your presents?" Christine asked, stepping into the room. Gustave was toying with the music box.

"Yes, of course." He replied in his serious little voice. Lifting his dark lashes to look at her, he met her eyes. She was taken aback with her reaction to the recognition she felt looking at him. "Maman, I want to show you something." She watched in wonder as his tiny fingers touched a knob on the side of the beautiful music box and a tiny hidden compartment was released. Sitting inside the small drawer was a folded piece of paper. He took it out and gave it to Christine. Gingerly, she opened it.

_The Angel of Music is watching over you. Always. _

Christine let out an involuntary cry of shock, dropping the note to the ground. A sharp pain pierced her side and she crumpled to the floor.

"Maman?" Gustave cried in horror, leaning over her. Trying to pull herself up, Christine met her son's teary eyes. When she brought her hand up from her lap, it was bloody.

"G-Get your father…" She whispered, feeling consciousness slipping away. Distantly, she heard Gustave calling for Raoul.

* * *

Raoul sat miserably outside the door of the room he had shared with Christine for the past five years. Two hours had passed since Gustave had frantically led him to where Christine was slumped unconscious on the floor next to his bed. She had been bleeding and a horrible sinking feeling filled Raoul's heart. Gustave had fallen asleep an hour before, after the doctor had arrived. Raoul had put him to bed, trying very hard to hide the agony he felt.

"Is Maman going to die, Papa?" He asked, making Raoul ache. With each passing year, as Gustave grew up, he felt like his family was slipping away from him.

"No, son." He'd replied. "Your mother will be just fine." Kissing his forehead, Raoul left the room.

Now, he waited to hear news of Christine.

Of his child.

Perhaps he and Christine had never been meant to be together. Too many things had happened over the years to drive them apart. Things that had yet to be addressed were still kept in. Perhaps they never would surface.

_She bore one healthy child, she can bear another._ He told this to himself over and over again, but a bitter resentment had begun to take shape in the back of his mind.

Finally, the door opened and the doctor stepped into the hallway, where Raoul sat on the floor, waiting.

Always waiting.

"Monsieur le Vicomte." He addressed him. Raoul stood, staring down into the man's sympathetic eyes. He already knew the answer. "I'm sorry. Her ladyship has lost the child." Raoul closed his eyes, feeling them burn with tears. "I hate to give you this news on your son's birthday, but I see no reason why the Vicomtesse could not conceive again. She is young and healthy."

Raoul felt lost as he watched the doctor leave. Opening the door to his bedroom, he found Christine lying on her back staring blankly at the ceiling. Raoul sat on the edge of the bed and was jarred by the paleness of her face and the expression void of emotion. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she turned her head away, focusing on the other side of the room. He noticed a tear slip from the corner of her eye.

"Don't touch me." She whispered. "I can't bear it." A hurt like he had never felt consumed him as he stood and left the room, desperate to get away from her. She was repulsed by his even touching her.

She blamed him for killing their child. He felt it. He'd never realized how badly he had wanted to see a child with his own eyes looking back at him. That dream seemed to be rapidly slipping away from him, along with his own wife and son. Raoul felt his life was hanging by a thread that could be cut at any moment and he couldn't handle the thought of losing them.

Raoul entered his study with purpose, moving past the desk to the mahogany cupboard against the wall. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he used the small key in his desk drawer to open it and pulled out a bottle of Scotch along with a glass. As he sat in the chair and continued to pour himself drinks, he let the tears fall free down his face. In that moment, he realized that he had lost the battle even before it was over.

It wasn't fair.

* * *

**So I have just learned the plot of Love Never Dies and all I have to say is...it is SO on. **

**S.**


	5. New York

**November, 1892 **

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It unnerved Christine as she wandered through the rooms of her vacant house. Gustave was not home and Raoul was buried in his office, no doubt either aimlessly looking through his papers or asleep. One of Christine's biggest sorrows these past few years had been watching the boy she had loved so well descend into a deep depression. He had lost the will to be happy.

Except when it came to Gustave. Raoul always made sure Gustave did not see, and for that, she was grateful.

But Gustave knew. She could see the sadness in his face when he noticed the dark circles under Raoul's eyes. The boy spent most of his time with his father trying to make him smile. Striving so hard to excel at everything and surpassing any expectations that his parents had set for him. He'd mastered the piano and the violin and had begun spending his afternoons at the church to play the organ. Hearing a nine year old boy talk about the brilliant resonance of the instrument was a bit strange for Christine. Most boys Gustave's age wanted only to be outdoors at all times, riding or playing sports. Gustave loved to ride and had a way with animals, but he showed almost no interest in any sport.

As she entered the music room, Christine found herself drawn to the piano they had bought Gustave for his fifth birthday. It was still in pristine condition, for Gustave lovingly took care of it. An aching loneliness filled her as she stared at the reflecting light on it. She almost thought for a moment that she saw someone standing behind her in it, but it was only a reflection of a painting. Cautiously, she let one of her fingers slide over the smooth ivory of the keys and pressed one of the notes. It was perfectly in tune. Sitting at the bench, she placed her hands correctly and tried to remember the last time she had sung. It had been the last time she had been onstage, over ten years ago.

It came easily again, though she made mistakes, she remembered how to play. She remembered the hours she had spent with her father, as a child, practicing. How she missed him now. It was a lovely, sad song he had taught her after her mother had died. Christine could not remember her mother at all anymore. Only that she had been very pretty. Her voice too, returned as if she had never stopped, though it seemed different now. Deeper perhaps? She had grown up since then.

She knew better now.

"Don't stop." A voice came from the door. She turned and saw Raoul standing there with a small smile on his face. "I never thought I'd hear you sing again."

"Neither did I." She admitted, blushing. "I didn't know how much I missed it." Rising, she felt a stab of pain at her husband's prominent cheekbones and pale face. Had she done this to him?

"You're still wonderful." He said with a sigh, though he did not come to her as she thought he might. Raoul had not come to her bed in over a year.

"I miss you." She said quietly, reaching for him and cringing when he shrunk back, turning away. "Remember when we were children? Remember the first time I met you by the sea?"

"How could I forget?" He murmurerd. "I had never seen so many curls in my life."

"I was a precocious child." Christine smiled. "Why can't you look at me?" She asked, feeling hurt when he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"We're strangers Christine." He replied tiredly. "We have been for a very long time." With an apologetic look, he began to walk away, but stopped and looked back at her. "You deserve to be happy."

Tears stung her eyes as she watched him drift away from her and up the stairs again. It was the worst sort of pain to see a man who was once so full of life and happiness disappearing into himself.

"Pardon me, my lady." Therese, her housekeeper said. "The mail has arrived." Christine nodded, reaching out for it and flipping through it quickly. Nothing out of the ordinary until she came to an envelope addressed to _Le Vicomtesse de Chagny._ Frowning she opened it and began to read.

_Dear Madame le Vicomtesse, _

_It has been many years since I saw you sing at the Opera Populaire, but I remember well your talent. It would be an honor in opening my new theater in New York City if you would come and sing for us. I'm sure a talent like yours will draw a crowd. I will expect you on December the first. _

_Yours Truly, _

_E.C. Destler, Owner_

Christine stared at the letter agape. Fate had a funny way of bringing music back into her life the very day she was given the chance to use it again. Then she remembered that Meg and Madame Giry had gone off to New York when Meg had been offered a position as a prima ballerina in the New York Ballet. They must have recommended her to this gentleman. Of course she wasn't going to go, but the thought was very tempting. Folding the note, she set it inside her pocket before going to give Raoul the mail.

Gustave returned home just as she had shut the door to Raoul's study. Christine could hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. When her son appeared, she felt a surge of love for him. The boy looked at her with almost understanding eyes, as if he knew the pain she was feeling at losing her husband to depression.

"Is Father ill again?" He asked. Christine bit her lip so she would not betray how much it hurt to hear him say that, but she nodded. "Ill," had become the word she used when Raoul was drunk. "He's been drinking again, hasn't he?" Gustave asked, surprising her. Coming to him, she took his face into her hands and looked down at him.

"Why do you say that?" She asked gently, combing her fingers through the thick ebony of his hair.

"Mother, I know you tell me he's sick so I won't know, but I see the empty liquor bottles. I smell it on his clothes sometimes." She could see the tears in her son's eyes. "Why does he drink, Maman? Why is he so sad?" Christine looked away for she knew exactly why Raoul was sad. He knew her deepest secret, her greatest betrayal, yet because he was so good, he buried it deep within himself and named himself at fault.

"He just needs a vacation…we all do. Away from Paris." Her eyes opened with purpose, remembering the invitation she had received not an hour before. "I have just the solution. Gustave," She kissed his forehead. "Go wash up for dinner, Darling. I must speak with your father." When Gustave had disappeared into his bedroom, she opened the door to Raoul's study just as he was pouring a drink for himself. Gathering courage, she took the bottle from him and put it back into the liquor cabinet, seeing the small gold key on Raoul's desk and locking it swiftly.

"Christine, what are you…?" Raoul slurred, and she turned to face him.

"Enough." She said firmly, trying to be intimidating as Madame Giry had when she taught ballet. "I cannot sit here and watch you drink yourself to an early grave, Raoul de Chagny. I refuse to. Do you know what your son just said to me?" Raoul blanched at this remark, especially at the words "your son." Christine went on. "He said, 'He's been drinking again, hasn't he?'"

"He's noticed?" Raoul asked, looking upset. Christine nodded.

"He's nine years old, Raoul. And if you haven't noticed, he is brighter than the average child his age."

"Trust me, I've noticed." Raoul said bitterly, looking into the remaining bit of his drink. Christine brandished the invitation from within her dress pocket.

"I received this in the mail this afternoon. I have been invited to sing at the grand opening of a new opera company in New York City." She said, handing him the letter.

"America?" Raoul asked incredulously. "You're going to go all the way across the Atlantic just to sing a song in a grand opening?"

"I thought we could all go, actually." She said, taking the note back from her husband. Tenderly, she touched his hand. "I think we could all do with a vacation, Raoul. And Meg and Madame Giry are there and it's been so long since I've seen them. Nearly two years!" Raoul seemed to brighten at this.

"How is Meg?"

"She has performed in _Swan Lake _and _The Sleeping Beauty_ just recently. I miss her." Christine sighed wistfully. Raoul studied her for a moment.

"You really do miss it, don't you?" He asked. "Performing, I mean." Unable to meet his eyes, she nodded.

"I've felt lost without it these past years." She admitted. Raoul quickly finished the rest of his drink and smiled at her.

"Then we'll go." He told her. Tears filled her eyes as she rushed forward to hug him.

"Oh, thank you!"

* * *

**December 1, 1892**

Raoul watched the New York shoreline come into view from his position on the deck of the boat. For a brief moment, he wondered why he had agreed to bring them here. There was a feeling of dread weighing on him as if he had just sealed their fate. New York was amazing. There really was no other way to describe it. It was full of buildings and movement and people. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept watch on Gustave, who was amazed by the vast size of the city. Christine patiently stood on the other side of her son and smiled each time he exclaimed over a new discovery, especially when the Statue of Liberty came into view.

It really was a magnificent piece, Raoul had to admit. Tall and green, Lady Liberty was a silent beauty, watching over her land with pride.

They were instructed to prepare for leaving the boat and made their way down to the doors. Sunlight flooded in when they were opened, and Raoul stepped out onto the boarding plank, making sure Christine and Gustave were able to walk safely. Christine looked every inch the Vicomtesse with her dark hair swept gracefully up and pinned. A single curl hung against her shoulder. Atop her head was a grand hat of light blue satin and tulle. After ten years, she had only managed to become more beautiful. A thought that hurt him even more, for even though she was his wife, she seemed very unattainable.

It had been over a year since they had slept in the same bed. She had seemed to stop taking pleasure in making love with him, and he had been unable to bear the look on her face. So, he had begun sleeping in the guest bedroom, soothing his loneliness with the numbing oblivion of alcohol. Perhaps they could find some common ground again here, away from the stress of home.

He noticed Madame Giry in the crowd first, her fading red hair standing out. Even at fifty, she was still a striking woman. She smiled at the sight of them. Gustave reached her first, allowing the woman to kiss his cheeks and look down into his face. Raoul's heart clenched when he saw her hesitate as she studied him, though she said nothing of what she may have been thinking. Christine embraced her next, crying with the joy of seeing the only family she had known as a girl.

"Where is Meg?" Christine asked, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief while Raoul stepped in to kiss Madame Giry's cheek.

"Here I am." Meg's small, but mature voice came from behind them. "Sorry, I was securing transportation back to the hotel for you." When Raoul turned around, he barely recognized the girl he'd known as an impish ballerina. Standing where she would have been was a small woman of extraordinary beauty. The fullness of childhood had gone from her cheeks, making her wide set eyes seem very big. Her lips were not as full as Christine's but were beautifully shaped as if someone had drawn them on her. She was still voluptuous, though she had thinned some since her days at the Opera Populaire. It was to be expected, now that she was a ballet star. Most lovely though, was her hair. It was thick and styled elegantly at the crown of her head, the color of butter and sunshine.

Christine held her tightly, making Meg laugh. It was a musical sound, that tiny laugh. Everything about her had become enchanting. Or had she always been and Raoul simply had never noticed because he'd been blinded by his desperation to keep Christine? The two ladies chatted with their arms linked as they walked. Christine kept Gustave at her other side. Raoul offered his arm to Madame Giry, who took it gratefully. He watched her closely, noting that she seemed short of breath.

"Are you well, Madame Giry?" He asked. She laughed.

"Raoul, how many times must I ask you to call me Antoinette? We're family. Madame Giry is too formal." She teased. He smiled and nodded.

"Sorry. Old habits and all that."

The hotel was beautiful. It was a brand new place that had been opened by an heir to a railroad fortune. They were given a suite on the top floor with two bedrooms, a parlor and two baths. Gustave wandered around, amazed by the sheer size of it. The windows were large with the curtains drawn open to let in the sunlight.

"Maman, look! There is a man selling ice cream down there!" Gustave cried, looking out the window and turning toward Christine. "Oh please, Maman! May I have one? May I?" Laughing, Chrisitne nodded.

"All right, Gustave. Just this once. But it had better not spoil your dinner." She replied.

"It won't, I promise!" Gustave exclaimed, making Raoul smile despite himself as well. He remembered being a child and being excited over something. It was the first time Gustave had ever had a real vacation away from home besides visiting his sisters in England. Even then, it had been brief and not often. Gustave barely knew his sisters and their children, and was even less close with his parents. Since marrying Christine, Raoul had been somewhat estranged from his mother after the way she had treated his then fiancée.

"I'm going to take Gustave downstairs for an ice cream and a short walk." Christine told him. "Will you come with us?" Raoul shook his head apologetically.

"I must stay here and wait for our luggage. I have to oversee the setup of the room, dear." He explained. "You go and have fun."

"I will come with you." Madame Giry said, smiling down at Gustave. "We have much to catch up on." She looked at her daughter. "Meg?"

"I'll keep Raoul company. Nobody wants to be stuck up here alone." She said. Christine looked grateful. Raoul felt his nerves begin to rise. When they were gone, Meg let out a small sigh and sank into a chair. She smiled up at him. Raoul was bemused by the way he could suddenly hear his pulse in his ears.

"Sit down," She said kindly. "You've had a long journey."

"How have you been, Meg?" He asked. She grinned.

"It's wonderful to hear someone call me Meg for once. My stage name is Marguerite Giry, so naturally everyone calls me Marguerite." She shrugged. "I hate the name myself, but it is a good stage name. To tell you the truth though, as much as I love New York, I long for Paris."

"I know what you mean. I already miss it. It's so busy here…" Raoul agreed. Meg nodded.

"Everyone is always in a rush. Nobody ever has time to make friends, so it can get very lonely." She said. Raoul felt color come into his cheeks.

"From what I've heard, you have suitors lining up out the door for you." He joked. She smiled tensely.

"Of course, because everyone is under the impression that ballerinas are loose women, but I swear to you, I am still a virgin!" She said defensively, stopping herself in horror. "Oh goodness. Please don't tell my mother I said that to you. It's so inappropriate. I'm sorry. What an idiot…"

"It's all right." He assured her. "There is no shame in being a virgin, Meg." A chuckle left him. "It's quite respectable. And don't worry, I won't tell."

"But you and Christine are so close. I can't imagine you not telling each other everything." She said and Raoul nearly choked.

"We're not so close anymore." He said regretfully. "Since she lost the baby, she's been distant. She's nearly a stranger to me now."

"What do you mean?" Meg asked, wide eyed.

"I think she blames me. I feel like she looks at me and thinks me a failure because I can't give her the baby she wants. Believe me, it isn't from lack of trying." He sighed, moving to pour a drink for himself as he began to feel the familiar stress rising. "We tried for three years to conceive, but her monthly occurrences came just like clockwork every single time. She was never even a day late."

"And she blames you?" Meg asked in a hushed voice.

"She's never said it aloud, but I can see in her eyes that she thinks I am less of a man." He closed his eyes to the pain and took a sip of his liquor, letting the liquid warm him as it went down his throat.

"I'm sure that's not true." Meg said. Raoul started when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked down into Meg's worried face. She was smaller than Christine, only reaching the middle of his chest in height. "You two had a beautiful son together." She said. Raoul could only stare down at her, unable to say anything. What could he say? That in his deepest heart he knew that Gustave would never belong to him?

"Gustave was a miracle." He finally said. "We're lucky to have him in our lives."

"We all are." Meg conceded, letting her eyes fall to his glass. Gingerly, she took a sip and winced. "Raoul, you're better than this." She said, taking the glass and pouring it into a basin. He watched her, not moving. She was right. Drinking was destroying him, but being numb was easier that hurting constantly.

"I'm sorry." Raoul said quietly. Meg frowned.

"Raoul, I know what loneliness is, believe me, I'm not blaming you. But if you are unhappy, you need to tell Christine. I cannot bring myself to believe that she thinks you are less of a man because she hasn't had a baby." Meg shrugged as the door opened and Christine entered with Gustave and Madame Giry.

"Father look!" Gustave cried, running to Raoul and showing him the ice cream cone. "It has peanuts and chocolate on it! It's delicious." He smiled at Gustave and touched the boy's lovely face.

"How marvelous!" He replied, trying to sound eager for him.

"And you'll never guess what else, Father!" Gustave said, beaming. "There is an amusement park here with something called a…um…" He looked down at the pamphlet in his hand. "A Switchback Railroad! It's a railway track with hills! And there's games and shows and everything!" Raoul smiled down at the boy.

"Well, then we must be sure to go see." He replied, looking up to meet Christine's eyes. They were red and glistening with tears, but she looked happy. A knock at the door made her quickly wipe them dry. A hotel employee was there with a note.

"A letter for her ladyship, sir." The man said. Raoul tipped him generously and handed Christine the note. Everyone watched her expectantly as she read it.

"My new employer wishes to meet with me this afternoon." She explained.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Raoul asked. She shook her head.

"It's just a meeting. I'll be back quickly, I'm sure. Why don't you take Gustave to the amusement park?" She offered. Meg nodded.

"I'll come too. I've been there before." She said and Madame Giry looked at her daughter quizzically.

"Well I, unfortunately, must retire. I am tired." She replied. "Meg, don't stay out too long, you have an early rehearsal in the morning."

Raoul felt guilty at the pleasure he felt in spending an afternoon with Meg Giry, but he could not deny he was glad that she had offered to come. Still, as he watched Christine leave with Madame Giry, he worried about her meeting this man alone. She had no idea who he was or what his intentions were. He made a note to go to the theater and check on her if she was not home by dinner time.

"Can we go now, Father? Please?" Gustave asked happily. Raoul looked at Meg and nodded.

"Button up your coat, Gustave. It's very chilly." He said, offering his arm to Meg and shutting the door behind them as they set out for the amusement park.


	6. Once Upon Another Time

Christine nervously held the note in her hand as she entered the theater. It was marvelously decorated with wide marble floors and pillars. Gold banisters wound up with the grand staircase and an intricate statue of an angel stood keeping watch above everything. Nobody was about, but for a few maids here and there.

Biting her lip, Christine stepped into the door way, looking through the rows of seats. In the dim light, she could see a man sitting in the front row. It looked like he was taking notes. Christine opened her mouth to say something, but he spoke first.

"You're early. That's very admirable." Christine's eyes widened, feeling déjà vu. His voice was like a memory from a dream. She watched him stand up, a dark figure in the dim light. He turned and made his way up the aisle toward her, walking with a cat like grace. Out of habit, her hand moved to make sure her pinned up hair was still in place.

"It's always been a philosophy of mine. To be early is to be on time…to be on time is to be late and to be late—"

"Is a sin." He finished for her, stepping into the light so that she could see him clearly now. "I know that saying well, for I was the one who taught it to you."

Christine backed up involuntarily, startled and shook her head in disbelief.

"_You_." She whispered shakily. He grinned at her.

"Hello, Christine." He said, his voice alerting her senses as if she had just seen him yesterday.

"It was you all along." She said quietly, staring at him in quiet acceptance. Closing her eyes, she scolded herself for her incredible naïveté. "Erik."

"Yes." He admitted. "This is my theater." She wanted to run away from the pain she felt seeing him standing in front of her casually, as if nothing had ever happened. "How are you?" He asked. Christine felt her eyes fill with angry tears.

"How can you stand there and ask idle questions as if we're just old friends catching up?" She asked, trying to breathe. Silently, he held out a small bundle of papers to her. She snatched them from him and looked down at the song. _Love Never Dies._ "What is this?"

"It's the song you're going to sing for the opening." Erik replied simply. "I wrote it for you."

"Are you insane?" She asked, looking into his green eyes. "Are you mad? You deceived me into coming here under false pretenses and you think I am actually going to go _through_ with this?" Erik raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"Yes." He agreed.

"How can you even think I would stay here after everything that happened with us?" Christine had to look away because one of the tears had dropped from the corner of her eye. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I couldn't stay…it was wrong." Erik explained.

"It wasn't wrong! I stayed because I wanted you and _you_ left me." Shaking her head, she glared at him. "I'll never forgive you."

"I know." He said sadly. "Christine…you were so young. You didn't know what you wanted. You were engaged. You wanted me…you wanted him. I didn't want you to resent me for it later." Erik sighed. "It was not the right time for us. You needed time." Christine stared at him incredulously, feeling her anger threaten to bubble over.

"When would have been the right time for you? A month later? A year? _Ten_ years!" She stifled a sob and thrust his music back at him. "How could you do this? How could you trick me into coming here?" She stopped, shaking her head and covering her face with her hands. "Oh wait, I'm forgetting. It's you! I should have expected it!"

"Christine, let me explain—"

"_No_!" She cried, pushing him in the chest and looking up at him with blazing eyes. "You have no idea what you put me through! The agony of wondering where you where. Wondering what I did wrong! I don't _care_ what you have to say!" Erik opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, looking past her. Swallowing, she turned to see Meg and Gustave standing in the doorway to the theater.

"Christine?" Meg said cautiously, putting an arm around Gustave's shoulders. He looked confused, frightened even.

"Maman?" Gustave said when Christine did not answer. "Why are you crying?" Drawing in a breath, Christine looked sideways at Erik. He looked like he had been punched in the gut, staring at her son. His face had lost all color and he was looking at Gustave as if he were trying to place him. Still angry, she didn't care. She moved to take Gustave's hand.

"I'm not crying, my love. Something was in my eye." She said, looking at Meg, who seemed regretful.

"I'm sorry, Christine. Raoul had to go back to the hotel to deal with a luggage situation, and Gustave wanted to see the theater. I didn't think it would be a problem…" She apologized. Christine touched Meg's arm.

"Think nothing of it, Sister." Composing herself, she kissed Gustave's hair and put her arm around his warm little body. "Come on, Darling. Let's us three go to the Sweet Shoppe and pick out some treats!" Christine made it a point not to glance back at Erik.

"Christine." Erik said harshly, handing her the music again. "You _will_ sing for me." She stared at him with blazing eyes, before ushering her son and Meg out of the theater.

* * *

"Antoinette Giry, you open this door _right now._" Erik demanded, knocking sharply on the door to Antoinette's home. A moment later, the woman appeared, staring at him with expectant features.

"You have a keen way of dealing with people, Erik Destler." She said, pursing her lips. "Please do come in." She added, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"You never told me that Christine had a son." He said angrily.

"I never thought you cared." She shot back, pouring them both a cup of tea.

"You _know_ I cared." He returned, taking the tea and setting it aside to forget it.

"You had an odd way of showing it." Antoinette replied acidly, sitting in a chair.

"Leaving her destroyed me. I spoke to no one for months." He said turning his glare on her. "How could you not tell me that she had a child? A son?"

"Why Erik?" Antoinette asked. "Why are you so interested in Gustave? You left _her_, remember? What difference does it make? He is the heir to the Chagny title. When Raoul becomes the Comte, he will become the Vicomte." Erik cringed.

"It makes a difference." He argued. "How old is he, Antoinette?" Antoinette stared silently at him with her blue eyes blazing angrily. "_How _old?" He cried, frustrated. He saw her sigh slightly.

"He was nine in October." She relented, looking away defeated. Erik reeled back, counting…counting…July, June, May, April, March…

February.

"No…" He gasped, sagging against the wall. "It can't be…"

"Erik," Antoinette interrupted firmly, "You will leave it be. That boy is the son of Raoul de Chagny."

"Have you _seen _him, Antoinette?" Erik asked, feeling his pulse rising dangerously high. "My _God._"

"He takes after Christine's father." Antoinette insisted weakly. Erik gave her a pitying look.

"Spare me your excuses, Giry." He said. "What skills does the boy have?" When she did not answer him, he pressed on. "Is he musically inclined?" Meeting his eyes, she gave him one nod.

"Yes." She whispered. "Even more so than Christine was at his age." Her eyes grew wide, imploring him. "Please let her go, Erik. She has endured enough."

"Do she and the Viscount have any other children?" He asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. The thought of Christine lying with her husband reviled him, made him sick with jealousy.

"No." Antoinette told him quietly. "There was one, brief pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage early on. Since then, Christine has not become pregnant."

"And her son..."

"Gustave." Antoinette interjected.

"Gustave." He corrected, "He was born healthy? Normal?"

"I remember well the day Gustave was born. It was October. According to Christine and Raoul's marriage, the child should have been born near Christmas and I remember Raoul being very afraid for the baby's life." Antoinette swallowed very hard as Erik sank into a chair, listening to her words carefully. "When the baby was born healthy and large, everyone was surprised. He was lovely. He had a full head of black hair. Christine named him for our dear Gustave Daaè, her father. And we have adored little Gustave." Antoinette smiled sadly. "He is a dear, sweet little person with the goodness of his mother."

"What of Chagny? Has he been good to him? He must have known…"

"If Raoul has ever suspected, he has never voiced it or shown the child any less affection. Even since he has become depressed and taken to the drink—"

"He's a bloody drunk?" Erik thundered. "Gustave is being raised by a filthy _drunk_?" Antoinette stared at him with hard eyes.

"Better a bloody drunk than a bloody murderer, perhaps." She reminded him. "You have no right to judge, Erik Destler. You have not earned it. When you left her and she came home to me after those three days she was gone, she was devoid of hope. She was inconsolable. And she sprang right back into that marriage with the Viscount. I cannot bear to see either of my daughters hurt that way again. You weren't the one who held her when she was hurting. I was. And damned if you're going to hurt her again."

"I want to see him, Nettie." Erik said, looking her in the eyes as he moved to the door. "I have to know. I _deserve_ to know." After a moment of contemplation, Antoinette shook her head.

"I want nothing to do with this." She said, shutting the door soundly.

* * *

Raoul looked up as Christine blew into the suite with Gustave and began rifling under the bed. He watched as she pulled up one of their large suitcases and opened it.

"What are you doing?" He asked, moving to get closer to her. She began to throw clothes into the suitcase.

"We're leaving." She said breathlessly. "Tonight. I want to go home." His eyes widened.

"I thought this was what you wanted, Christine. You needed this." He insisted. She shook her head, looking at him with tears in her eyes. His heart dropped at the sight of the distress in her eyes.

"Not anymore. I was wrong to think so. I just want us to go home together and be a family. Away from this awful place with all of these rude people." Christine said while Gustave watched her in quiet disappointment.

"But you said we could go to the amusement park. I didn't get to go yet." He began to cry. "You said it would be a vacation for all of us, and we never see Meg or Madame Giry and now we have to go _home?_" He sniffled. "It's not _fair._"

Raoul could only stare at his wife in bemusement. Just when he'd begun to feel again, when things had seemed like they would get better, it was ending again. They would return home to their huge, empty house and return to their separate, lonely, miserable lives. He couldn't take it anymore. He felt like he was slowly drowning in sorrow and the only life preserver he had to hang onto was this new place they were in. New air to breathe.

"Christine, we just got here." He said, moving to put an arm around her. She was trembling. "Stop packing." He said gently, holding her arms and sitting down with her. He felt her breathe into his shoulder. "Look at me, Christine. Little Lotte…" Meeting her eyes with his, he touched her cheek. "What is this really about?"

"It's…" She began, but looked down after a moment. "It's nothing. Just a bad feeling. Stage fright." Raoul watched as she forced a smile. "Ten years is a long time. I'm just feeling nervous is all." Reaching for Gustave, she pulled him close into their embrace and kissed his rosy cheek, ruffling his dark hair. "Of course we can stay. Forgive me, my darling." Looking up at Raoul, she smiled at him. "Thank you for being wonderful."

"You're welcome." He replied, kissing her forehead.

"Will you come to dinner with Meg and Madame Giry?" Christine inquired. He sighed regretfully.

"I sorely wish I could, dear, but I have to attend to some business tonight unfortunately. My sister Rosalind's husband has apparently racked up a gambling debt and she telegraphed me today asking if I could send her some money to bring her and the children to France. I hope you don't mind, but I said that they could stay in our house since we aren't there anyway."

Christine nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course, dear. Anything for Rosalind. She was always so kind to me. And her children are darlings." She said, kissing his cheek. Standing, she took Gustave's hand and led him toward the door to put his coat on him. "But Raoul?" She asked at the door, ushering her son into the hall.

"Yes?" He asked, kissing Gustave's hair and sending him back to his mother.

"Do try not to drink too much tonight, sweetheart. It's not good for your health. And I worry for you." Raoul nodded, feeling very small when she said that.

"No worries, my love." He told her, blowing a kiss and watching them leave with a heavy heart. For some reason, he felt in that instant, that everything had changed. He was losing Christine with every passing day, no matter how tightly he tried to hang on. His eyes flickered over to the liquor tray, seeing an unopened bottle of Irish Whiskey.

"Just one drink." Raoul said aloud, moving toward it even though his conscience told him not to. He poured the amber liquid into a small glass, finishing it quickly and tried to convince himself that was enough, but before he knew it, half the bottle was gone and he could not even remember drinking it. Self anger filled him as he threw the glass on the floor, listening as it shattered. As he moved to clean it up, a knock at the door stopped him. He gave the mess one last look before running to open the door. Nothing could have prepared him for who was standing there.

It was the same dark hair and green eyes. The same lean figure, exquisitely dressed and wearing an expression of lazy arrogance. His mouth was set in an assessing line and though Raoul was slightly taller, the man was still intimidating. His mask was newer, slightly different than the one he remembered, but there was no question that this was him.

The Phantom of the opera.

To his surprise, a laugh of disbelief escaped Raoul as he looked into those glaring green eyes.

"Tell me why I am not even surprised to see you." He said, shaking his head and wondering if the Phantom was a figment of his drunken imagination. Suddenly, he realized why Christine had been so desperate to leave. So upset. Why her eyes had been full of unshed tears. "She isn't here." He added tiredly. "She is at dinner with the Girys."

"I see." The Phantom replied dryly. The voice sent a chill through Raoul's body. The way he was looking at him made Raoul very self conscious. "Tell me something, Chagny." He went on, "Is she happy?"

"Why on earth shouldn't she be happy?" Raoul asked bitterly. "Could it be the loving, close relationship she shares with her husband? Or the dozens of laughing children I've given her running through the house?" Pouring a new drink, he shook his head. "Why are you here?"

"I came to apologize for my behavior this afternoon." The Phantom replied, eyeing the bottle of whiskey. He gave Raoul a pitying look. "What have you become? When I released her to your care, I counted on you to take care of her. And you've become a drunk?"

"I'm not a drunk!" Raoul replied defensively. "Perhaps it's the fact that the woman I married has never given me her whole heart and I have to live with the fact that she resents me. I could never make her happy. I couldn't even give her children!"

"Forgive my insolence," The Phantom said, "But do you or do you not have a son?" Raoul felt fury building up in his belly as he stared at the man. Blinking rapidly, he held his liquor in a shaking hand. With the other hand he pointed to the door.

"Get. Out." He whispered, glaring at his tormentor. The Phantom raised an eyebrow at him before stalking out of the suite.

* * *

Christine returned to the suite after dinner, feeling much more relaxed. Gustave was very tired, so she quickly put him to bed. Peering into the other dark bedroom, she saw Raoul asleep on one of the sofas. Frowning, she noticed the empty whiskey bottle lying on its side beside him along with a broken glass shattered over the marble floor. With a sigh, Christine saw to cleaning up the mess he had made as she tried to remember the last time they had made love. It had been over a year before. Just around Gustave's eighth birthday. The doctor had told them that there was no reason why she could not have children, so they had been actively trying to conceive. The last time they had slept together had ended in a fight. When they had finished, they were lying together and Christine had stared up at Raoul's face. He looked tired, but happier than she had seen in years.

"This is it." She'd told him. "I feel it." His eyes darkened and she saw him swallow hard, but he said nothing. Touching his face, she smiled. "Imagine, a year from now when we hold our little baby with your eyes and my—"

"And what if not, Christine?" He asked, sitting up. "What if I never give you a child? What then?" She made to speak, but he held up his hand. "Don't say anything. I can't bear it. I can't do this anymore." He said, quickly dressing and leaving the room.

She had stared at the closed door and cried herself to sleep.

Now, as she allowed herself to sink into the warm, delightful water, she rested her head against the back of the large tub, falling into blissful oblivion.

"_How long have I been asleep?" He asked, sitting up in the bed and rubbing his eyes. She stared at his tousled black hair and smiled, rising from the chair she had been curled up in. _

"_Nearly an entire day." She told him, watching him pull on a shirt before he came to her and took her hands. _

"_You're still here." He said incredulously. She grinned at him. _

"_I told you I would be." She replied with a laugh. "Are you hungry? I ordered some food." Gesturing toward a cart with trays of food on it, she saw his eyes light up. _

_They ate together, talking about anything and everything that came to mind. She told him the story about how one of the ballet girls was bullying Meg and broke the porcelain doll Meg's father had bought for her before he had died. _

"_So…to get revenge, Meg snuck into her room that night and cut off part of her hair. When she came to rehearsal the next morning, the girl didn't even know half of her hair was missing!" Christine laughed fondly, remembering it. _

"_Your laugh is infectious." He told her, smiling over his cup of tea. _

"_Tell me something about your life. What is your fondest memory?" She asked curiously, watching the emotions on his face change. She knew it was a risky question, but this was the test to see if he really did love her. _

"_My fondest memory was hearing you sing for the first time, Christine." He replied simply. "Your tiny little voice with such power behind it. I knew there was something there. At first I only wanted to teach you because you needed something to keep you motivated, but after that, I knew you were special. I knew you deserved better than a lowly chorus girl and I was so damned tired of listening to that damned no-talent cow, Carlotta Giudicelli sing…" He looked down. "I didn't realize I was in love with you until I thought I might lose you..." _

"_The night of the gala." She answered for him. "Raoul." Her eyes widened, understanding. "That's why you revealed yourself to me." _

"_Yes." He admitted. "I was a fool. And you were so much younger and so lovely, I couldn't…how could you ever…?" _

"_You are only a monster if you choose to be, Erik." She told him. "You make your own destiny, not the other way around. If you want things to be different, it's you who needs to change things." She squeezed his hand. "My father told me that before he died. I never knew what he meant. I do now." _

"_Will you go back to the Vicomte?" He asked, unable to meet her eyes. _

"_That all depends." She said. _

"_On what?" _

"_You." She replied, moving closer to him and standing in front of his chair. She felt his hands come tentatively onto her waist. Carefully, she stroked his thick, dark hair and stared into his unmasked face. "Say you love me." _

"_You know I do." He whispered, leaning up toward her. She bent down as well and met his lips with hers. It was a soft kiss, but it ignited a feeling inside her that she had only felt once before. Below the opera. _

"_You're beautiful, Erik." She said quietly and he stopped abruptly, staring at her as if she'd gone mad. _

"_Christine, you don't have to lie to me. I'm aware…"_

"_If you knew me at all, you'd know I am no liar." She said quietly, feeling hurt. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And you are…" Taking his face into her hands, she kissed him deeply, feeling his arms come around her body. She was surprised when he stood up suddenly, bringing her with him, her arms still locked around his neck. He hesitated, as if unsure of what to do next. _

"_The bed, darling. Take me to the bed." She pleaded, bowing her head into the warmth of his neck, feeling the stubble of his unshaven face to kiss there. _

"_Are you certain?" He asked quietly. She replied with a sigh of pleasure at feeling the warmth of his pulse beneath her lips. He laid her down ever so carefully, cradling her head as he did, as if she were made of glass. She laughed, pulling him by his shirt on top of her. He braced himself with his arms and bent to kiss her neck, pulling a small moan out of her. "Is this what I'm supposed to do?" He asked. _

"_I'm unsure, sweetheart." She giggled. "I am as inexperienced as you are, but if I were one to guess, I would tell you to keep on with that because it feels good." He let out a dark chuckle against her skin and she watched his nimble fingers begin to unbutton the front of her dress, revealing only a chemise. When he gave her a questioning look, she shrugged. "I snuck out of bed to come to you. No time for corsets." _

"_I'm not complaining, Christine. Believe me." He said, removing the dress completely from her body and leaving her in just her chemise and stockings. Her hands moved to cover her breasts, which were nearly entirely visible beneath the flimsy garment. She could feel his fingers hook underneath the edge of her stockings and roll them off of her legs before he lifted the hem of her chemise and drew it away from her body. As she lay naked before him, she thought she ought to feel a bit of modesty, but alas, she did not. His eyes grew hazy with lust as did hers, she was sure. Reaching for him, she watched as he removed his shirt and trousers before he settled beside her. The feeling of skin on skin was like nothing she had ever felt. Knowing that he had never had another woman in his arms like this warmed her. _

_Christine nuzzled into his chest, drawing her lips across the skin there. She could feel his taut muscles beneath her fingers and the primal urge to sink her teeth into one shocked her. She had never been brazen or wonton, but having him like this at her fingertips made her want to do wicked things that she had only heard the other ballet girls talk about. One girl had even told her about putting the swollen part of a man into her mouth! Christine had balked at the thought, thinking it revolting, but in her current state, she didn't think it would be so terrible. Remembering something that Dominique had told her, she kissed him on the lips and shyly touched her tongue to his lips. To her surprise his did the same, touching hers. Even more exhilarating, she loved the feeling of it and could feel her breath start to come in uneven spurts. _

_Lovingly, he stopped her and turned her over to lie on her back, moving her legs apart. Very carefully, he touched her between her legs and felt the wetness there. She bucked her hips, trying to move closer to him, arching her back. He leaned over her, positioning himself there and thrust forward quickly. A rush of pain filled her and she cried out. He began to withdraw in panic, but she shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist to keep him there. _

"_Don't stop." She said breathlessly. _

"_But it hurts you." He replied, torn between the need to care for her and his own need. _

"_Not anymore. Please." She said, drawing his lips to hers again. Indeed the pain did go away after a moment, replaced by a pleasant pressure building in the pit of her belly. She felt herself grip him harder, intertwining their fingers. He breathed her name over and over again. _

"_Erik, please!" She begged, unsure of what she was pleading for. A moment later, she felt the warm rush of something inside her and a wave of pleasure wash over her body. He moved to her side, pulling her into his arms and kissing her temple. Both of them glistened with sweat, listening to each other's panting. Within moments, they were asleep. _

_When she opened her eyes, he was gone. _

The sound of someone being ill jolted Christine awake. She must have fallen asleep in the bath. Her entire body felt alive as if every nerve ending was on fire. She saw Raoul heaving into the toilet miserably. Shaking her senses back into her, she sighed and rose from the tub, pulling on her dressing gown after she dried off. Going to her husband, she pushed his hair back from his face and tried to soothe him.

"I told you not to drink too much." She said sadly.

"I know." He whispered, staring straight ahead. Christine looked away so that Raoul could not see the tears falling from her eyes.

* * *

**At last, the truth. Thank you for reading. **


	7. Beautiful

Christine sat at the breakfast table with Gustave, dreading the moment Raoul finally emerged. He was sure to be ill and she did not want her son to see his father in that condition. Gustave ate quietly, staring out the window with a wistful expression. His cheeks were rosy this morning as he anticipated the day. Madame Giry had offered to take him sight seeing today so that Christine could practice the aria, even though she was still unsure if she would perform.

A knock at the suite door made Christine nearly jump out of her skin. Her fork fell from her hand, clattering against her plate angrily. A moment later, Madame Giry was shown in, wearing a day dress of gray wool. Christine frowned at the amount of white that had streaked its way through her once brilliant red hair.

"Sorry, I am early." She said to Christine, smiling fondly at Gustave. Glad for a chance to have Gustave out before Raoul came out of the bedroom she stood and moved about to fetch his coat and hat. He ran over to her excitedly and she quickly put them on him.

"Wear your gloves, Gustave." She said firmly. "It is cold today."

"In a few days it will be Christmas!" He said happily.

"Yes it will. So be good for Madame Giry." She told him, kissing both of his cheeks. Madame Giry took his hand and kissed Christine's cheek.

"We will return sometime after lunch." She said. Christine nodded.

"Whatever you think best." She agreed, ushering them out the door. "Behave, Darling."

"Yes, Maman."

Setting her breakfast aside, she moved to the desk, where she had placed the bundle of music. She took it to the piano, setting it carefully. Softly, she began to play. It was a lovely, soaring melody. The sound of footsteps made her stop suddenly.

Looking up, she saw her husband standing in the doorway to the parlor, holding his head. He was very pale and his hair was brushed but he looked unwell. A slight film of sweat made his skin glisten unappealingly. She bit her lip worriedly.

"Raoul…you don't look right." She said, rising. He nodded.

"I'm sorry." He said, slouching against the wall. "I need to go out for air."

"Would you like some company, dear?" Christine inquired, looking toward her coat. He shook his head.

"No. I can see you are practicing." He said. She frowned at the bitterness in his voice.

"Raoul, I—" She began, but he was gone before she could say anything else. As the door closed, she sank back onto the piano bench, staring at the music in front of her with teary eyes. The man she had just spoken to was not the same person as the sweet boy who had come to her dressing room over ten years before. Gone was the carefree grin and smiling eyes and in their place was a tired, pale face. Brilliant blue eyes were now shadowed with dark circles and lines appearing at the corners of his eyes. His lovely smile was so rare now, that when it did appear, her heart fluttered hopefully.

Looking back to her music, she began to play again and slowly began to sing the lyrics along with it.

"Who knows when love begins…who knows what makes it start? One day it's simply there…alive inside your heart. It slips into your thoughts, it infiltrates your soul. It takes you by surprise…" Christine stopped, her eyes widening. He was in every single beat of this song.

Unable to keep it in any longer, she bent her head against the piano and sobbed, letting out ten long years of anguish.

* * *

Erik was standing at the front of his theater watching the new curtain being installed, overseeing every detail with a keen eye. It was precisely what he'd wanted. Royal purple velvet with gold trim.

_The Aerie Theater._

The sound of a small voice speaking excitedly came from outside the theater.

"…and did you see the dancers in their costumes?" He was saying as they entered. "How high they could jump!"

"Yes, Darling, I did." Antoinette said patiently, holding the boy's gloved hand. He looked up and saw Erik standing before them. Erik made sure to study him closely, from the thick ebony hair and the light green of his eyes.

Two pink, beautiful cheeks.

He was beautiful. Too beautiful to be his, and yet…it was like looking in a mirror of himself as a child. Erik's breath caught as he met the child's eyes.

"You were talking to my mother yesterday." The boy said, finally breaking the silence. Erik nodded.

"This is my theater. She's going to sing on this stage." He explained, hoping the child wasn't afraid. He saw Gustave's eyes drift to his mask.

"I shall leave you two to talk." Antoinette said sharply, giving him a look of warning over the little boy's head. "I will be near. Be careful what you say, Erik." She said, turning to leave the room. Unsure of what to do, Erik spoke.

"Do you like New York?" He asked. Gustave nodded enthusiastically, looking around the theater in awe of its beauty.

"Very much, thank you. It's so lonely at home."

"What do you mean?" Erik asked, perching on the arm of one of the seats. Gustave turned back to look at him.

"My father is sad. He's been sad a long time." Gustave explained.

"The Vicomte, you mean?" Erik inserted. The boy's eyes flashed with confusion.

"Of course…who else would I mean?" He asked, sitting across from Erik. " Maman thinks I don't know that he drinks, but I do. I've always known."

"Is he mean to you?" Erik asked darkly, afraid to hear the answer. Gustave looked surprised.

"No, never!" He said. "Father is wonderful, he's just sad. I don't know why…I think he's lonely though. He and Maman hardly ever talk anymore. They tried to give me a brother or sister, but it never happened." The boy's face fell. "It's been very lonely all by myself."

"What about friends?" Erik asked, watching the way the boy sat. He was very composed for a nine year old boy.

"I don't have many. My parents insist that I have a private tutor." He leaned forward. "Sir, could I tell you a secret?" Erik nodded.

"Of course."

"I wish I could go to school. _Real_ school with other children and everything!" Gustave whispered excitedly. "Mother says that it's a better education I'm receiving, but it's so boring! I want to run and play with other boys. The only thing I can do for fun at home is play music."

"Do you like to play music?" Erik inquired, watching the boy's face light up.

"Oh, yes! It's my favorite thing!" He cried. Smiling, Erik stood and held out his hand to the boy. Tentatively, Gustave took it.

"Come, I have something to show you." Erik told him, taking him down to the stage, where the piano was sitting. Gustave looked up at Erik questioningly. "Play something for me."

"What do you want to hear, Sir?" He asked, sitting at the bench.

"Anything." Erik replied, standing beside the piano. Gustave hesitated for a moment before playing a sweet melody. "What is that?" Erik asked, impressed.

"Just a song in my head." Gustave told him shyly.

"In your…" He stopped. "You wrote this?" The boy nodded. "Go on." Erik urged.

"I get a lot of ideas. I love when the notes sound beautiful together. I like to try to play things together and when they fit, it's perfect. And sometimes, even when they don't fit, they sound good too!" To explain, he played a dissonant chord. He let the sound die out in the room before he looked closely at Erik's face.

"Why do you wear a mask, Sir?" He asked innocently. Erik did not feel the usual irritation he felt when people inquired about his face.

"To cover my face." He answered simply.

"But, _why_?" Gustave asked curiously. Erik gave him a small smile.

"Sometimes it's better that way."

"May I see?" The boy asked. Erik could see the same glitter in his eyes that Christine had had the first time she had unmasked him.

"Perhaps someday." He replied, seeing Antoinette step back into the room. "But now, it is time for you to return to your mother."

"May I come visit you again, sometime?" Gustave asked hopefully.

"I'd like that." Erik agreed, gesturing for him to go to Antoinette. Gustave turned to leave, but paused, meeting Erik's eyes again.

"Don't worry. I won't tell my mother I was here." He said. Erik stared at him, impressed with his maturity. "Thank you, Monsieur…"

"Erik." Erik filled in. Gustave grinned and ran back to Antoinette, taking her hand. Meeting Antoinette's eyes, she nodded knowingly. Full of an emotion he had never felt, Erik had to turn away. He knew conclusively now.

Gustave de Chagny was his son.

"Sir, forgive me." One of his employees interrupted his thoughts.

"What is it, Dawson?" He asked impatiently. The man held an envelope.

"Another one of those letters has arrived." Dawson informed him.

"Give it here." Erik said, holding out his hand expectantly. The man gave it to him, waiting for further orders, as Erik opened it.

_Soon all of the wrongs will be righted. You will never take anything from anyone again. You shall finally get your due. _

"Burn this, Dawson." He demanded. "Tell no one."

* * *

The pier was crowded even though the air was freezing. Families walked together, enjoying the sunlight and the air just before winter set in. Raoul watched them all with weary eyes. The children who held hands and ran about while their laughing parents chased after them. A couple holding hands, staring out at the ocean.

He had never felt more alone in his life.

Gustave had always wanted to swim in the ocean. Raoul closed his eyes to the pain he felt at the thought that they were so close to uncovering the terrible secret. The thought of losing his son was too much for him to bear. He loved the boy with every inch of his being and had always done everything in his best interest. He and Christine had been strangers for a while now, but Gustave was the glue that still held him together. Everything he did was for him.

"Raoul?" A woman's voice said his name. For a moment, he thought it might be Christine. Opening his eyes, he saw Meg Giry standing before him, wearing a coat and hat. "Sorry, I'm just coming off rehearsal and I saw you sitting here. I wanted to make sure you were all right." Raoul tried to compose himself.

"I'm sorry…I was just—"

"You don't look well. Have you eaten?" Meg interrupted worriedly.

"No." He admitted as his stomach rumbled, almost in response.

"Why don't you come with me for some lunch out of this bitter cold?" She asked. "We could go get Christine…"

"No she's practicing…" Raoul replied, his face falling. "For _him_." Meg's eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh." She said, sitting beside him. "I see." He shook his head.

"After all these years, it's the same story." He muttered, shaking his head. "I've been such a fool."

"No…Christine loves you." Meg insisted. "You're the father of her child." Raoul winced as if he'd been hit in the gut.

"Am I?" He asked tiredly. Meg gasped.

"Raoul, what are you saying?" She cried. He smiled sadly down at her.

"Look at Gustave, Meg. Look at me. Do you see any of me in him?" When she didn't answer he nodded knowingly, meeting her blue eyes. It was all finally pouring out of him. "He was born two months early, Meg. The doctor insisted he was only a few weeks early, but I swear to you, we waited until our wedding night."

"Raoul, you can't think—"

"Where was she those three days, Meg?" He stared at her. "Surely you remember. I came to your flat every day after we escaped and your mother gave me excuses. She was ill…she was sleeping…she'd gone to visit a friend. Where was she?"

"I-I…" Meg shook her head helplessly. "I don't know. Mother told me nothing. I didn't want to ask…I was afraid to know. Do you really think she could have been with someone else?"

"Not _some_one else." Raoul said. "_Him._ Can you really look at Gustave and deny it?"

"I…" Meg began. "I don't know." He saw her look away uncomfortably and regretted his confession in an instant. Yet, he could not deny he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest.

"I'm sorry Meg." He said, touching her arm. She stared at his hand for a moment. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's inappropriate." Looking up, she met his eyes.

"You've been holding this in for a long time, haven't you?" She whispered. Raoul looked away silently, out at the ocean. She took his hand and he felt his head began to spin. "Come on, you need to eat." He let her lead him to a small restaurant near the pier.

When they were seated across from each other, she blushed, looking into her menu.

"Do I make you nervous?" He asked after a moment. "We've know each other for a so long." Meg bit her lip, looking contemplatively at him.

"If I tell you something, you must promise never to tell Christine." She said, laughing nervously. "This is going to sound so stupid."

"I doubt that." Raoul said, feeling himself smile for the first time in a while. It felt wonderful.

"That day when you first came to the Opera Populaire as the new patron, I fancied you." She shook her head, chuckling to herself. "Christine told me she knew you and all I could think was you were the most handsome boy I had ever seen."

"You're kidding." Raoul laughed. "I looked a fool with that long hair. I thought I was so suave. Ah, to be twenty-one again."

"It's why I always helped you." Meg said, turning a bright shade of red. "I never thought you would notice me, but I liked you, so I helped you with Christine. I was so envious, but I never resented her. She was so lovely, and I was…"

"You are lovely, Meg." Raoul told her. "Don't be silly. Christine and I had a past together, but you weren't..." He paused, "_Aren't,_ any less lovely than Christine. Have you seen yourself?"

"Oh I know _now_ that I am pretty." Meg laughed. "Men never hesitate to inform me of that fact." Raoul was horrified at the shock of anger he felt at her remark. She sighed. "Please don't say anything about this to Christine. I would die of embarrassment."

"Of course." He assured her. "We were all young once."

"Are we so old now?" She asked, tilting her head prettily. Her light hair was styled atop her head in an elegant style. "I'm only twenty-six."

"I'm thirty-two." Raoul said. "Though sometimes I feel seventy."

"Well, you don't look a day over fifty." Meg teased, winking at him. Raoul could only grin, feeling better than he had in months.

* * *

**Please let me know if this is terrible. **


	8. Shadows of the Past

It was time for a break, Christine decided, looking at the clock. There was still no sign of Raoul or Gustave yet, so she decided to go Christmas shopping with the time she had to herself. Christmas had crept up on them with everything that had come about these past few days. As a child, she had loved Christmas. Her father had tried to make everything fun and interesting for them. Even though they were always traveling, he managed to get her something she would really enjoy. One of her dearest Christmas gifts was a locket that she still own, though it was worn and broken. Inside it, were miniature pictures of her parents. Her own mother, who she could barely remember, yet looked precisely like her, though Josephine Daae had possessed eyes the color of the ocean, while her daughter had inherited her father's chocolate eyes.

The streets were crowded with tourists and shoppers alike, all doing their own shopping. It was bitterly cold and it had begun to snow as the day wore on. Christine was not used to such a busy city as New York was. It made her long for the serenity of her home. Yet, the thought of leaving her now made her heart sick.

As a particularly strong wind ripped through the crowd, Christine ducked into the first shop she saw, seeking warmth. Delightful tinkling bell sounds filled the shop along with the smell of cinnamon. It was some sort of collectibles shop. At the counter, you could buy a container of fresh roasted almonds dipped in cinnamon sugar. It was intoxicating.

As she walked through the shop, she had to admire the beautiful statuettes on the shelves. They had everything from praying children to dancing animals.

At the end of one of the aisles, something caught her eye. It was a porcelain monkey playing the symbols. It made her heart lurch as she remembered a similar music box she had seen before. Though the tune was much different than the one in her memory, it was still striking to her.

"Miss, are you all right?" A man's voice asked. She turned to see the shopkeeper in surprise and realized that she was crying. Bringing a gloved hand to her cheek, she wiped the tears off of her face and nodded.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, shaking her head. "I need to go." Fleeing the shop, she stumbled back out into the cold, grateful for the fresh air to help her regain her senses. Dread filled her as she knew what she had to do. She had to face her past head on if she ever wanted to be happy in her future. The gleaming sign of the Aerie showed just across the way. Drawing her coat tighter around herself, she crossed the street and walked into the dark warmth of the new theater. A group of what seemed to be employees stood to the side of the room.

"Excuse me." She said, hating the waver in her voice. "Where may I find Mr. Destler?"

"He is in his quarters upstairs, I believe." One of the men said, pointing her upstairs. "Is he expecting you?"

"I'm Christine Daae – er – de Chagny." She explained. The man nodded knowingly.

"Up the stairs to the left. Knock twice." He instructed. Christine quickly thanked him and made her way up the winding stairs of the theater. His rooms were not hard to find, as they were behind the closed door at the end of the hall. She did as the employee had told her to and knocked twice. Almost immediately, he opened the door. She bowed her head, hiding beneath her hat.

"Are you lost, girl?" He asked, taking her back nearly ten years to that night. Looking up at him finally, she met his eyes and watched the look on his face turn to surprise.

"Yes." She whispered.

"Christine." He said with a sigh.

"Hello, Erik." She replied nervously. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I…" She trailed off, embarrassed. "I came to talk to you."

"About the song?" He asked, closing the door when she passed him and locking it. "Do you need help?"

"No." She said, trembling. This was ludicrous. "I-I wanted to talk to you about what happened with us…ten years ago."

"I see." Erik said dryly, his face void of expression. His lack of reaction angered her.

"You left me." She choked out, tearing up. "I woke up and you were gone."

"Christine." He said, taking pity on her. Reaching out, he brushed a stray hair from her cheek. "Why can't we just go on with our lives? Why can't we—"

"I _can't_ go on!" She cried, drawing away. "Don't you see? I am in bloody limbo because I _can't_ move on! I can't be a proper wife! Please," She begged, "I need to know _why_!" Christine grabbed the front of his shirt desperately. "How could you?" She cried, uncaring of how she looked to him. "I would have followed anywhere you led! I _loved_ you!"

Erik surprised her by pulling her into a comforting embrace. Her arms wrapped around his middle as she buried her face into the clean smell of his shirt.

"It was before sunrise when I woke up." He finally spoke into her hair. "I saw the newspaper on the table. It was announcing your plans to marry the Vicomte. I looked at myself in the mirror and I saw myself. I couldn't bear to see your eyes look on my face ever again. So I ran. I was a coward." He added sadly. "By the time I regained my courage, it was too late. You had already married the Vicomte." She saw him smile slightly. "I was too late."

They were very close now; she could feel his pulse racing. His skin was very warm and his eyes had darkened with acute awareness of the situation. Before either of them had a moment to assess their situation, his lips bore down on hers, searching for the cure to ten years of misery. Christine clung to him, trying to press closer. It was she who deepened the kiss, parting her lips for him to take. She could hear a slight groan emerge from his throat as he lifted her off of her feet. She had a vague awareness that they were heading directly for the nearby sofa. The reality of what she was doing swept over her as her eyes swiftly opened. Erik too, seemed to have come back to earth and set her down to her feet.

"And now…" He said, touching her cheek. Christine frowned.

"How can you talk of now?" She demanded to know. "For us, there is no now." Erik stared at her expectantly.

"Will you sing or not, Christine?" He asked sharply. Her eyes narrowed on him, torn between hating him for manipulating her and wanting to jump back into his arms to finish what they had started.

"I'll sing." She agreed, moving to the door and unlocking it. "And then, I am going home with my husband and son. And the past will be done with." To her fury, he did not mock her, just gazed at her sadly with his head tilted.

"Keep telling yourself that, Christine." He said softly. "Rehearsal tomorrow at ten o'clock sharp." Unable to bear another second in his presence for fear she might betray herself again, she fled, more confused than she had been when she'd come.

* * *

Raoul was humming as he returned to the suite. He hung up his coat and immediately rang for tea. Switching to a whistle, he moved to open the curtains and let in the light. A small smile came to his face as he gazed out into the lightly falling snow. Such beauty in the simplest of sights.

A moment later, the door to the suite opened and he heard Gustave's excited voice call out.

"Mother? Father?"

"In here, Gustave!" Raoul replied, grinning as the boy bounded into the room. Never had he been so happy to see the child who had brought him such joy. Madame Giry gave Raoul a small smile and excused herself from the suite. Gustave looked out the window.

"Isn't the snow amazing, Father?" He asked. Raoul joined him and agreed.

"It is." He said, patting the boy's head. "Gustave, how would you like it, if I took you and your mother out for a special dinner tonight? We could take you to see a vaudeville show after…would you like that?"

"Oh, _could _we?" Gustave asked happily. "Papa, you're smiling!" Raoul laughed richly.

"I suppose I am!" He announced as he heard the door open and slam to indicate Christine had returned.

"Mother!" Gustave cried, overjoyed. He ran to greet her as she stepped into the parlor. The smile immediately left Raoul's face when he saw the state Christine was in. He watched as Gustave threw his arms around her waist. She looked down at him as if seeing him for the first time. It was as if she was seeing a ghost. "Mother, Papa said he's going to take us to dinner and then to see a vaudeville show tonight!"

"Christine?" Raoul asked, trying to get her to meet his eyes. She quickly kissed Gustave's forehead and left the room. Hurt, Gustave looked to Raoul for guidance. He laid a reassuring hand on the child's shoulder. "I'll talk to her."

Christine was sitting on the side of the bed, removing her boots when Raoul entered. He wanted to chide her for the way she had ignored her son, but he knew that he, of all people, had no right to talk. Not when he was drunk most nights.

"What is it?" He asked, sitting beside her. Looking up, she still did not meet his eyes.

"I'm not feeling well…I'm sorry. I didn't want Gustave to see me get sick."

"You are looking flushed." Raoul conceded. "You've been driving yourself too hard lately."

"I'm…I'm just tired." Christine said, slumping. She looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, dear." He said, kissing her cheek. Her eyes widened in raw surprise. "I'll take Gustave to the show and we'll come home to have dinner here with you."

"You're in a good mood, Raoul." She said, unable to hold back a small smile. "It's nice to see you smiling."

"It feels good." He added, getting up to go to the door, trying to push back the feeling of disappointment he felt.

Gustave was waiting fretfully in the parlor. Raoul grabbed both of their coats and helped Gustave with his. For a moment, Raoul's eyes settled on the liquor tray, but he closed his eyes and looked back at Gustave with a hopeful smile.

"Isn't Mother coming?" He asked. Raoul shook his head.

"She's ill. But I thought you and I could still enjoy a show and then have dinner here. Would you like that?"

"Of course!" Gustave said.

There was a vaudeville show on the corner that featured a singing trio of ladies that tap danced and a man who played the accordion.

Gustave was enthralled with the show from the moment it began and Raoul had to admit, he enjoyed it as well, though the girls' costumes were very revealing. He tried to imagine Christine or even Meg Giry dressed in one of those costumes, and immediately pushed that thought to the side. He should not be thinking of Meg Giry at all, much less envisioning her wearing next to nothing but beads and feathers.

Gustave talked excitedly on the way back to the hotel, clinging to Raoul's hand and trying to catch snowflakes in his hand. Raoul watched him with a sad smile, glad for this time they had together. He couldn't shake the feeling that their time together was running out.

Not anymore.

* * *

Erik scribbled notes furiously in his music book, trying different chords together and hating them all. He was trying to compose a new song, but nothing seemed to work tonight. Not when his mind was elsewhere. His encounter earlier that day with Christine had rattled him badly. It brought back memories that had been hard for him to let go.

When she had left his room, he'd gone straight into his office and had shut himself in, determined to lose himself in the comforting sounds of creation. He'd let her go once, twice even…he doubted he could do it again. Every time he saw her, his heart hurt with need. The way she looked at him undid him. She would never know how much he regretted leaving that morning.

_His eyes opened just as the first hint of sunrise came into the room. Christine was nestled against his side with her leg hitched over his. She was smiling in her sleep. Erik breathed in, kissing her forehead lovingly. As he pulled away, she turned over to her other side, but did not awaken. Tenderly, he pulled the sheet over her naked body. _

_He used the bathroom quickly and intended to return straight to the bed, but the newspaper on the vanity table caught his eye. _

_VICOMTE DE CHAGNY ANNOUNCES WEDDING PLANS TO SOPRANO. _

_Looking up, Erik saw his face staring back at him in the mirror. The twisted flesh, and half of a sunken nose. He closed his eyes, unable to look any longer and let his eyes fall back on Christine's sleeping form. Her skin was flawless, porcelain even. How could she look at him? How could she resign herself to a life with a monster when she could marry a viscount? Erik could not even bear the thought of her coming to resent his ugliness after her affection for him wore off. He did not want her to ever look at his face again, because he could not stand the notion that she might be wishing he looked like the young, handsome Vicomte de Chagny. _

_Stealthily, he pulled on his clothes and gathered his things. He looked down at Christine with his heart shattered. She still smiled in her sleep. _

"_Goodbye, my love…" He whispered, drawing away and out into the early morning before she could wake. _

_He was taken in by an elderly couple just outside of Paris. They knew nothing of the opera house affair, only that there had been some trouble there recently. He paid them handsomely with some of the money he'd had saved from his years at the Opera Populaire. _

_Three weeks had gone by in a haze for Erik as he continued to help the elderly couple around their house. The wife was reading the daily paper one morning and mused aloud about the Vicomte de Chagny's wedding that day. Panicked, Erik regained his courage and bid his friends goodbye, returning swiftly to Paris to try and find Christine before she married the Viscount. He went to Antoinette's flat, hoping to catch her before she left for the church. _

_Antoinette Giry answered the door tiredly, looking at him. He asked to see Christine and she gave him a strange look. _

"_You lost that right when you left her alone in a hotel room." She snapped at him. "She married Raoul yesterday." _

"_No…the papers said it was today…"_

"_That was yesterday's paper, Erik. You lost her for good." She scowled at him. "She's been ill, you know. Throwing up almost every day this past week. I've never seen a sadder bride. I haven't seen her like this since her father died!" _

"_I'm too late…" He whispered, closing his eyes to the pain of it all. "It's over."_

A commotion outside his office brought him out of his dark thoughts. There came two sharp knocks at his door.

"Enter." He called, testily. Dawson stepped into the room and gave him an apologetic look.

"Forgive me, Sir, but there has been a break-in." He explained.

"What do you mean?" Erik barked. The man cowered.

"One of the side door locks has been broken with some sort of tool and the door was hanging open!" Dawson muttered. Erik cursed.

"Scour the building. I want the intruder found and brought straight to me." He informed the man. Nodding, Dawson breathed.

"Should we alert the police?"

"Not yet." Erik answered cryptically. "Dawson?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I need a favor…I need you to go to the new hotel two streets over and check in on Madame de Chagny and her son for me. Will you?" He asked. Though the man looked confused, he nodded.

"Of course." Dawson said, leaving the room. Erik locked the door behind him and sagged against it. Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he drew something out and held it to the light, watching it sparkle as brilliantly as it had when it was new.

"Christine…" He whispered, clutching it in his hand and holding it to his heart.

* * *

**Suck. Sorry...**


	9. Devil Take The Hindmost

**December 3, 1892**

**10:01 A.M.**

Christine was late, of that she was sure. Erik was waiting for her, no doubt tapping his foot impatiently as he tended to do when he was irritated.

"_Christine remember, to be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late and to be late is a sin. The Angel of Music will not tolerate tardiness…"_

Shaking her head, she brought herself back to reality and entered the theater. He didn't even look up from his place at the piano to speak.

"You're late, Christine."

"Forgive me." She replied breathlessly, throwing her coat over a chair. "I had to take Gustave to stay with Madame Giry…Raoul went out somewhere this morning and—"

"You're wasting time with idle conversation." Erik said tartly, looking at her. She glared at him.

"I am not a child anymore, Erik. And _you _are not my Angel of Music. If you're going to scold me, I am going to leave." She threatened. He smiled.

"There's a girl." He commended her, gesturing for her to join him at the piano. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up beside him, trying to ignore the warmth of his shoulder touching her side.

"Shall we vocalize?" He asked. Christine nodded, clearing her throat. He played scales and to her relief, she did not falter. It had been so long since she'd really sung and she was nervous.

"Love Never Dies." Erik said, placing the music on the piano. "From your start."

"Who knows when love begins, who knows what makes it start…one day it's simply there, alive inside your heart…"

"You still have it." Erik said, stopping and leaning back to look at her. A wistful smile was on his face. She couldn't look at him because she felt like crying again. "Go on." She took one shaky breath and did as he told her. By the end of the aria, at the swell of the music, she heard her voice filling the room nicely. A few of his employees had stopped what they were doing to listen. Erik did not look up at her again, he simply played the music for her.

When it was done, Christine slumped against the piano, drained yet happy. She felt Erik's hand pat her lower back.

"Relax…it was lovely. You're still perfect even after all this time." He assured her.

"I have to leave this place soon." She whispered, looking into his confused eyes. "I can't keep pretending, I—"

"Christine…" He murmured, reaching for her. For a brief moment, she felt herself slowly edging toward him, but turned away immediately, horrified by her reaction to him.

"I have to go, Erik." She breathed. "I'm sorry…" Without a second thought, she turned and fled the theater, her only aim to escape him and the urge to fling herself on him.

"Christine!" She heard him bark, obviously in pursuit. "Christine, _stop!_" Turning her head, she saw him catching up to her just as she got out the front doors. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement near the entrance of the building. As luck would have it, her ankle rolled and she stumbled against the wall. The next few seconds happened so fast, she wasn't sure what happened. Somewhere in the haze of her busy mind, she heard what sounded like a gunshot. She wasn't sure where it had come from, but Erik had shoved her against the wall, shielding her body with his.

"Are you hurt?" She gasped, pushing him off of her far enough to examine him. He stared at her as if she were some variety of sea monster.

"You bloody insane woman." He panted. "You're going to be the death of me, you know! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Why did you chase me?" She asked defensively. Irate, he thrust her abandoned coat into her face. "Oh dear." Embarrassment filled her. A male employee approached them.

"Sir, was anyone hurt?" He asked. Erik glared at him.

"I thought I made it clear that the building was to be searched thoroughly for the person who broke in, Dawson." He snapped. The man went pale and began to stutter, making Christine feel sorry for him.

"S-Sir…" He stammered. "It was Logan Brimley." Erik's eyes widened in disbelief.

"The fifteen year old stage hand?" He asked before turning dark. Christine was vaguely aware of Erik putting an arm around her shoulders and guiding her back into the grand foyer. "I want that boy brought to my office at once."

"Should we call the police?" Dawson asked. Erik nodded.

"Of course, but after I speak with him." He explained, urging Christine up the stairs and into his office. She stared at the space that Erik spent his days in. For a rich man, his office was surprisingly bare. There was one bookcase, along with his desk and a file cabinet. Other than that, the room was barely furnished.

"Are you alright?" He inquired, sitting her in his desk chair and placing her coat around her shoulders. She nodded, trembling still. It was still unclear as to what had actually happened. A moment passed before Christine heard voices outside the door.

"Sir. The boy." Dawson said, joining the two men who held him.

"Logan, when I hired you, I was under the impression that you needed work." Erik said calmly, perching against his desk. "I was led to believe that you would value your job over anything. So why, may I ask, did you try to murder Miss Daaè – forgive me – Madame de Chagny." Christine winced at the mocking way he said her married name.

"Sir, it's my mother. She's ill." The boy explained, crying. "I was approached by…someone…who said that if I killed…someone…they would pay my mother's medical bills."

"Who was it?" Erik asked, eyeing him closely. Panicked, the boy shrugged.

"I don't know." He admitted. "They were wearing a hood and a man was talking for them. I'm not even sure if it was a man or a woman, but they gave me half of the money straight up. I had to!" Logan sobbed.

"Logan, if you needed help for your mother, why did you not approach me?" Erik asked coldly.

"I…don't know." Logan admitted. "I was ashamed."

"Not as ashamed as you will be. You are dismissed." He said. Christine's jaw dropped.

"Erik, that's not—" The look he gave her told her that her opinion was not needed nor wanted. Quickly, she shut her mouth and looked at her hands. When the gentlemen left the room, he turned on her.

"That boy just tried to take your life and you expect me to let it go?" His eyes were wild with anger and worry.

"If it was anyone else, you wouldn't have cared." She pointed out.

"That's…not true." He answered weakly. Christine gave him a reproachful look.

"Erik…I have no illusions about you. I remember Joseph Buquet…the chandelier…Piangi." She said.

"I was a different person then." Erik said, looking away.

"I know." She replied. "And I have always understood. Which is the same courtesy I think you should give Logan."

"Yes, but that doesn't solve the problem that someone is trying to kill you." He said.

"Are you sure that they are even after me? Logan never specified who he was hired to kill." Christine said.

"Well, that's a risk I am not willing to take. I want you and…" Erik stopped himself suddenly, looking ashen for a brief moment. "Your family to be safe." She gave him a look of wry disbelief.

"Even Raoul?" She asked dryly. Erik glared at her, ignoring the remark.

"Humor me, Christine. I haven't seen you in a decade." He replied, his eyes imploring her to see reason. Christine softened and she reached out to touch his cheek.

"You are a dolt." She said, sighing heavily. He leaned in to her touch and nodded.

"I know it." Trembling, she pulled her hand away and put on her coat.

"I have to get back to the suite, Erik." She told him, pulling away and walking out of the office, eager to escape.

* * *

Raoul was taking afternoon coffee and eating a blueberry muffin while Gustave sat at the table across from him, poring over a textbook about world history.

"Papa?" He asked aloud, drawing Raoul's attention away from the newspaper he was reading. He looked up expectantly.

"Yes, Gustave?"

"Why did Henry the eighth have so many wives?" He asked. Raoul nearly choked on his muffin, setting it aside.

"Well…" Raoul began, taking his time. "I suspect because he didn't want to be lonely."

"But he killed two of his wives and divorced two of them! I thought when you got married, that you were supposed to stay in love forever."

Gustave would never know how his innocent words wounded Raoul.

"Sometimes son," He said, "People fall out of love…sometimes…it's not meant to be." Raoul smiled sadly at the child. "You shouldn't be worrying about things like this."

"But when two people are married, they vow for better or worse. Shouldn't they try to work things out?" Gustave asked, sounding utterly too intelligent for a boy of ten.

"Yes…they should." Raoul answered distractedly. "Why don't you go play? We're on vacation. You don't need to do schoolwork."

"I think I'll go practice the new song I learned." Gustave said, rising and leaving the room just as the door opened and Christine returned. Her cheeks were red from the cold.

At the sight of her, Gustave's words echoed through Raoul's mind.

_Shouldn't they try to work things out?_

It was true that he and Christine had not been close in a long time. But there had been a time when their love had been pure and tender. There had been a time when they would stay awake into the hours of the night talking about the future.

Unfortunately, the grand future they had planned did not work out the way they'd imagined. In the beginning, they had said that they would have a few children and then after a few years Christine would return to performing. No children had come and Christine's desire to perform had faded. Soon, she and Raoul barely spoke and the only time they were together was at society events in public where they played the part of happy couple. Never had Raoul imagined that Christine would become someone he barely knew. The little girl he'd met by the sea was gone and had been replaced with someone much changed.

Still, Raoul believed that somewhere, beneath the sadness and the silence, that little girl still flickered inside Christine, waiting to come out again. He wanted to know that there was still hope for them. He had defied his parents to marry her, and he'd never regretted it. Too much was at stake.

"You're home early." He mused, checking his pocket watch. She nodded, acting aloof. Setting his paper and empty coffee cup aside, he stood and walked over to her, putting his arms around her from behind. To his chagrin, she shrugged away and turned to look at him with tired eyes.

"What is it?" She asked impatiently. Raoul stepped back, hurt by her reaction.

"I want us to be happy again." He said, pressing forward. Her eyes widened and to his surprise, tears welled up in them.

"Not right now…" Her voice was pleading. "I can't do this right now, Raoul." She turned away from him. "I just need to be alone."

"Isn't that always the way of it?" He asked bitingly. "Why am I always the one asking why you turn away from me when I already know the answer? I am so tired of competing with your precious Angel of Music, Christine." Raoul blinked rapidly against the angry tears that filled his eyes.

"What do you—"

"Spare me." Raoul spat. "I am through standing by the wayside while you decide what it is you really want." Reaching for his coat, he stalked past her.

"Where are you going?" She asked quietly. He shook his head.

"I don't know." He wasn't sure how he knew, but somehow he sensed that Gustave was listening. "Goodbye, Christine."

"Raoul…" She said, but he had shut the door behind him before he could hear what she was saying to him. Raoul was grateful when the first thing he saw when he stepped outside, was a bar.

* * *

"Maman, why is Papa mad?" Gustave asked, walking into the room where Christine stood staring at the closed door in shock. Vaguely, she looked down at her son and shook her head.

"He's not mad, love." Christine lied, putting her arm around Gustave's shoulder. "He's just tired is all. He misses home."

"I don't." Gustave admitted. "I like it better here. There's things to do here. People talk to me. Other children like to play here."

"I like it here, too, darling." Christine agreed. When there was a knock at the door, Christine jumped for it, hoping it was her husband. Terrible guilt had consumed her as his words had settled with her.

He'd finally voiced everything that she'd known to be true in their relationship. Something had always separated them because, though Raoul had desperately wanted to recapture the magic between them from when they were children, the truth was that she had changed in the nine years they were apart. At sixteen, Christine was no longer the precocious little girl who adored playing the fiddle and singing along with her father's music. The death of her beloved parent and the feeling of being completely alone in the world had altered her.

When she was seven, the first time she'd went into the chapel to pray for her father, she'd heard the voice. Being a vulnerable child, she'd believed it to be the Angel of Music sent by her father himself as he'd promised on his deathbed. For years she went on hearing the disembodied voice and she'd believed it was indeed a celestial voice.

That illusion had been shattered the night she was reunited with Raoul. The voice, usually serene and comforting had become angry and possessive and she realized that the mirror she had been standing in front of for her singing lessons was actually the entrance to a secret passageway. When she looked into the mirror and saw him illuminated behind it, she still believed it was the Angel. She playing into the delusion until the very next morning when she awoke five stories below the opera and remembered everything. Her fantasies were further destroyed when she removed his mask and saw he was nothing more than a flawed human being. Still, she had been inexplicably drawn to him even though he terrified her.

When she opened the door, it was not Raoul, but Meg. Grateful for someone to talk to, Christine pulled her into the suite and hugged her quickly.

"Christine, you look awful!" Meg exclaimed worriedly, examining her face. "Is everything alright?"

"Raoul and I had an argument." She told her, biting her lip. "Well, not an argument really, but rather an exchange…" Christine sank into a chair. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry, Christine. I'm sure everything will work out for the best."

"He's out drinking." Christine sniffed. "I know it!"

"Don't think like that. Have some faith in him." Meg said, trying to reassure her.

"I hate watching him on this self destructive path, Meg. Especially because I know it's all my fault!" She sobbed.

"No…Christine. Raoul loves you."

"I don't know why…after all the pain I've put him through these years. I've been unable to provide him an heir…"

"Nonsense." Meg replied, nodding toward where Gustave was huddled over his book again. "You have a beautiful, smart heir right there." Christine said nothing as she watched the intense expression on her son's face while he read. It was so unlike Raoul that she wanted to scream. In that moment, she would have done anything, given anything for Gustave to be fair haired and blue eyed with a mild personality and a passion for all things athletic and outdoors.

"Madame, forgive me." A maid said, appearing in the doorway. "But I found this pushed under the door just now." It was a small note. Christine groaned, fully expecting another demand from Erik, but inside found distinctly messier handwriting on the card.

_Christine Daaè, _

_If you are smart you will return home with all haste. It is in the best interests of yourself and those you hold dear for you to leave. You have taken enough. _

"Christine your face is white as a sheet!" Meg cried, coming to her. Looking up at the maid, Christine pointed to the door.

"Listen to me. Lock the door." Christine said. The girl curtseyed and dashed off to do her bidding. She turned to Meg. "Meg, I need to send for Erik. I…I think he was right. Someone is after me."

"After you?" Meg cried in horror. Christine quickly explained what had transpired at the theater that morning, leaving out a few details as she held Meg's hands. "Christine, your hands are cold."

"I'm scared, Meg." Christine whispered, looking at Gustave as a wave of relief washed over her that he didn't know something was amiss.

* * *

Erik was walking back from a meeting with one of his investors when he noticed the Vicomte de Chagny walking into a bar. Pulling his cloak around him, he decided to follow.

The Vicomte was seated at the bar, hunched over a glass of scotch. Though he did not seem to be drunk yet, it was obvious that was the intent as he'd already finished the first and was watching in anticipation as the bartender poured the second.

"What a surprise to find you drowning your sorrows in alcohol once again, Monsieur." Erik said acidly, sitting beside the man. Raoul gave a mirthless chuckle and looked up at him with tired eyes.

"Why can't you just leave me to it then?" He challenged. Erik shook his head, irritated.

"Is being married to her so terrible?" Erik asked pointedly, glaring at his rival. Raoul returned the blazing look, his light eyes shooting icy fire.

"Go to Hell." He growled. "And take her with you!" Erik resisted the urged to strangle him right then and there.

"Don't speak of your _wife_ in such a manner, Chagny."

"She may be my wife in name but she has never been mine." Raoul said softly, peering into the light liquid of his booze. "No one has ever belonged to me."

"Forgive me for not weeping at your feet." Erik retorted, ordering himself a brandy.

"No wonder she wanted to leave." Raoul said with a angry laugh. "Anyone who saw the two of you side by side would know the truth."

"Truth?" Erik asked, raising his eyebrows and paying the bartender for both his and the Vicomte's third drink.

"If she hasn't told you, then I can't help you." Raoul said, sloshing the liquid around in the glass. Erik set his jaw, bracing himself for what was to come.

"It's about the boy." He stated, watching the Vicomte closely. Chagny winced, confirming this. "Isn't it?" To his surprise, the man seemed on the verge of tears.

"You do know then." The Vicomte said, swallowing.

"I saw him yesterday. Antoinette Giry brought him to my theater." He admitted. "She as much confirmed what I had guessed. Brilliant child."

"Brilliant." Raoul muttered. "Congratulations…you win."

"When did you know?" Erik asked, taking pity on the younger man as he finished off his third drink and ordered a fourth.

"The day he was born." The Vicomte revealed. "Two months early and large as any infant should be."

"I see." Erik said, trying not to react to the admission, though he could not deny the surge of emotion he felt on hearing it.

"I've loved him as if he were mine." Chagny said tensely, "It pains me to know that he will never be truly mine. It kills me that _she_ never was."

"So you get drunk." Erik sighed. "A sad life, Chagny. I'm sorry for you." Turning to the bartender he paid off Raoul's tab and rose to leave. The doors to the bar opened and he noticed a couple of police officers come in."

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" The bartender asked.

"Nothing to drink." One of them said. "Has anyone suspicious been in here?"

"Other than the usual lot of drunks?" The bartender laughed. The police laughed too.

"Sorry, it's just that one of the guests in the hotel across the way received a threat just a few minutes ago and we're trying to cover our bases."

"You mean has it looked like there's been any shady dealings in here? Not that I've noticed…and it's a small place." He told them, gesturing to the small space. The police nodded.

"Thank you. The lady is a French aristocrat, so we're making sure she's got security." Erik's ears prickled at the mention of the woman.

"Who is it?" He asked discreetly, eyeing the inebriated Vicomte.

"The Vicomtesse de Chagny…the soprano." One of the police answered. Erik gave them each a small tip and left the bar, sprinting across the way, eager to get to Christine.


	10. Phantom's Dilemma

_Christine Daaè, _

_If you are smart, you will return home with haste. It is in the best interests of those you hold dear for you to leave. You have taken enough. I know what you really are, Christine Daaè. You may think you are something special, but I know the truth. You are nothing but a little chorus tramp. Go home to your father's grave or you will regret it. _

Christine could not take her eyes from the evil note that had been written in such lovely handwriting. Cold fear had begun to manifest itself in the pit of her stomach, but she was very careful to hide it so that she did not alarm Gustave, who was laughing with Meg in the corner. Christine was infinitely grateful for Meg's presence at the moment. The police had just left and had promised that there would be security watching out for her and Gustave. Raoul had gone, so she could not protect him if indeed this person was out to get him as well.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard so that the tears in her eyes would not fall. A sharp rapping at the door startled her and she turned quickly to look at Meg.

"Meg." She called weakly, "Take Gustave into the bedroom." Her voice dropped. "Lock the door, love."

"Of course." Meg agreed, taking the boy's hand and promising to tell him more stories of when his mother was a child. Composing herself quickly, Christine braced herself for whoever was on the other side of the door and opened it with a shaking hand. To her utter relief, it was Erik standing there, looking concerned.

"I heard you were threatened again." He said gruffly. She began to nod, but was pulled tightly against him before she could get out a word. Burying her face into his chest, she took in his soothing, familiar smell. Lemon tea and the interesting cologne he had always wore.

"I'm fine." She replied, lying. "We all are." Underneath her fingertips, she could feel his tense muscles relax.

"Good," He breathed. "Good."

"Christine?" Meg's voice came from within the bedroom.

"Yes Meg." Christine said, wiping her eyes and pulling away from Erik.

"It's nearly three-thirty, dear. I have rehearsal at four. I'm so sorry I can't stay." Meg replied, coming into the parlor. She noticed Erik with surprise on her face and nodded politely to him, looking at Christine apologetically.

"Oh goodness, darling. Go on." Christine said, hugging her tightly. "I am worried about you though. Will you be safe? If whoever this person is knew me, then they most certainly knew you too."

"Don't worry about me, Christine." Meg assured her.

"I'll escort, Miss Giry to her rehearsal." Erik offered. "I see the police are here and have the building secure."

"Oh, you don't need to—" Meg protested, embarrassed.

"Nonsense. Thank you Erik. That would set my mind at ease." Christine agreed, touching his arm.

"Lock the door behind us and do not leave. Do not even poke your head out of this suite, Christine. Understood?" He turned to look at Gustave, who was standing in the doorway with a quizzical expression on his young face. "The same goes for you, young man." Erik added. Gustave nodded seriously.

"Yes sir." He said softly. Christine watched as the door closed behind them. Quickly, she moved to lock the door. "Maman, why is someone trying to hurt you?" Gustave asked. Christine looked at her son, who seemed still so young to her and yet was not so far from being a man. His green eyes were intelligent and compassionate.

"I don't know, darling." She replied, pulling him into her arms. He was warm and sturdy and clean and holding him made her feel the slightest bit better. The thought of anything happening to him was too much for her to think of. "But don't you worry, we'll be fine."

"Maman, where is Papa?" Gustave asked, wounded. "Why is he so unhappy all the time?" Christine stared at her son, contemplating how she should answer this, when Raoul walked into the suite with his hair a mess and his shirt untucked. He looked a mess. Anger filled her as she caught a whiff of the unholy liquor smell coming off of him.

"Gustave, I want you to go and practice the piano in the other room. Close the door behind you." She ordered. Gustave began to protest. "_Now._" The boy left the room without hesitation.

"Christine, I…"

"Who the _devil_ do you think you are, Raoul de Chagny?" She spat at her husband, advancing on him. "Leaving on a whim to go drink yourself into an early grave? Haven't you ever thought your family might need you sober?"

"Oh do control yourself, Christine." He answered back nastily. "You haven't needed me for a long time. Maybe you never did." His blue eyes were blazing with hurt.

"Have you gone insane?" She cried. "Look at yourself!"

"I am, Christine. For the first time, I am ready to face some truths about myself." Taking her by the shoulders, he backed her against the wall, trapping her. She turned her head, trying to escape the smell of his breath. "One, you don't love me. Maybe you did once, but I can see that you don't any longer. It's been selfish of me to assume you do."

"Raoul, please stop talking this way…we can work on things…"

"Stop it." He ordered, his voice strained with aching. "Two, I know the truth." Christine stared into his eyes in confused horror.

"Truth?" She whispered.

"Don't pretend you don't know. It's obvious to everyone, love." He spat, looking toward the closed door of the parlor. Gentle piano notes floated through the air from inside it. "I knew it when I saw him for the first time. He was so big. Two months early and so healthy. So _vital._ Such thick, black hair. He was so beautiful, but I didn't see myself in him at all. And I certainly don't see much of you in him either. When, Christine?" He asked, breaking. Christine watching numbly as tears began to spill from his eyes. "_When?_"

"A month before the wedding." She finally said, letting out the breath she had been holding in.

"Those three days you were gone. You went back to him." Raoul said, pulling back and turning from her. Christine watched his shoulders rise and fall with his sigh.

"Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper and yet, it seemed to echo through the foyer. "I was going to stay with him…but he was gone when I woke on the third morning."

"You chose him." Raoul said, realizing. "I was just your fall back."

"It wasn't like that…" She insisted.

"Yes it was." He said, waving her off. Swiveling around, he met her eyes. A thrill of fear ran through her as she saw the anger in his eyes. His voice became hushed. "You _used _me, Christine."

"No." She sobbed.

"Yes. You used me to father the child I didn't create. You made me believe you loved me."

"I did love you…" She said, reaching for him. "I still love you."

"_Shut up._" He bellowed at her. "You used me as a second hand replacement father for your bastard! You denied me real love and you made me feel like a failure as a person. I'm broken Christine, and _you did this to me!_" She watched him, feeling ill as he slumped against the wall, sobbing. When he looked at her again, he shook his head. "I can't. I can't do this anymore. I have to go."

"Where?" She cried, trying to grab his arm. He shook her off, trembling violently with rage.

"I don't care. As long as I don't have to see your face for one more second." Raoul choked out. Christine watched him as he disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him.

* * *

"Take it from the top please, chorus!" The director called out. "Meg, take five. You look tired." Meg gladly left the stage so that she could sit for a moment to the side. Her mind was racing with everything that had happened that afternoon. Erik Destler had not said two words to her on the whole ride to rehearsal, but she could see in his face that his mind was also full of thoughts. It was plain to see that Christine still loved him. She had seen them embracing before she came into the room, though she pretended not to. Her heart hurt for poor Raoul, who loved Christine so dearly.

All her life she had dreamed some handsome man would ask for her hand and make her happy. In truth, she had had many offers from handsome men, but she could never bring herself to say yes to any of them. To this date, six men had proposed to her and she had declined every one of them. It was strange, but she didn't even know why. It was selfish and she knew it, but something always held her back. His eyes weren't blue enough, his hair was styled wrong, his smile was uneven. He was too tall, too short, not smart enough…the list went on. At this rate, she would be alone for her whole life.

At twenty-six years old, she was no longer a very young woman. She was technically a spinster if one were being truly accurate. It was a position that she had never thought she would be in. She had always looked forward to being a wife and a mother. Those things seemed to become less attainable as each lonely year went by. Her mother pretended that it didn't matter to her whether Meg married, so long as she was happy, but Meg knew it secretly hurt her mother. Antoinette wanted grandchildren. She wanted to see her dearly departed husband's face in her grandchildren's faces. And in truth, Meg wanted a baby of her own to hold and love. She watched women her own age with children that were no longer babies even, and it ached in her heart. So why then, could she not bring herself to say yes to one of these worthy men?

"I will accept the next person who proposes." Meg said aloud to herself, grateful that no one was around to hear her. She set her sight on a young man who had asked her to dinner before, a handsome young dancer named Christopher. He was an American, born and raised who was tall and good natured. Gathering her courage, she walked up to him and tapped his shoulder. He turned and smiled when he saw her.

"Miss Giry, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked pleasantly. She felt a rush of relief as she looked up into his tanned face.

"Monsieur, I was wondering if that offer for dinner was still open." She replied shyly. His eyes widened and then he hesitated before sighing.

"Oh dear. I'm afraid I can't accept, Miss Giry." He said, looking back toward the chorus. "I have been courting Miss Estelle." He admitted, referring to a dark haired girl. "I am so sorry." Disappointed, she nodded, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Oh…no. Of course. Estelle is a lovely person. Congratulations to the both of you." She assured him, mortified.

"I hope you'll still be my friend." Christopher said kindly. Meg breathed deeply and nodded, forcing herself to smile at him.

"Think nothing of it." She patted his hand. Thankfully, the director dismissed them all early. Meg pulled her clothes on over her leotards and tights and hurried from the theater, fully embarrassed. The thought of a hot bath and a cup of hot tea sounded heavenly.

* * *

Erik paced his office, unsure of what to do. He wanted nothing more than to rush back to the hotel where Christine was staying and fall at her feet and admit that he loved her and that he was sorry for ever leaving her. He wanted to carry her off to her bedroom and do wicked things with her and to her. He also knew that she was still married to the Vicomte de Chagny, no matter how broken that union may be, she was still bound to him. She still wore the Vicomte's wedding ring.

His son still bore the Vicomte's name.

There was Gustave in the middle of all of this. He was still the heir to the Chagny title and fortune. He was still Raoul's son in every way but by blood. The boy had grown up knowing the Vicomte as his father and for Erik to come and rip that away from him…confuse him. The thought of causing Gustave even the slightest pain made him sick. And of course, there was the matter of his face. If Erik were to reveal his face to the child, he may be horrified and disgusted. It was one thing to have Christine recoil from him, but his own flesh and blood? It made him want to cry out in agony.

"Sir." Dawson's voice came from outside his door. "Madame Giry is here to see you."

"Send her in." He called weakly.

"You look terrible." Antoinette said walking in. He glared at her.

"You do too." He shot back at her. She smiled, amused.

"Why did you send for me, Erik? You never want my advice."

"I do now." He answered grumpily. "The Vicomte admitted to me that I am Gustave's father. He knows."

"Does Christine admit it too?" She inquired, sitting down across from him. He stared at his desk for a bit before answering her.

"I haven't confronted her on the matter." He admitted.

"The _matter?_" Antoinette let out a surprised laugh.

"I don't know what else to call it." Erik said. "And the more I see the child, the more I wish…" He stopped, sighing. "What should I do, Antoinette?"

"You're asking _me?_" She said, sounding astounded. "This is your decision Erik. But let me be the devil's advocate for a moment."

"Aren't you always?" He replied wryly. She chose to ignore him.

"Just remember that there are other people who stand to get hurt if you do decide to confront Christine. Gustave and Raoul are both victims in this too. As much as you hate to admit that, Raoul is a victim. And Gustave has never known any other father. He has no idea. I'm not telling you not to do this…but tread with caution Erik. Please."

"You're right of course." Erik agreed, nodding.

"There's another first." Antoinette laughed, rising and starting toward the door. "I like this new side of you. I don't want to murder you quite so much."

"I wish I could say the same for you." Erik muttered, watching her leave. He heard the low chuckle come from her when the door clicked shut.

* * *

Raoul stared desolately at the ocean, shivering against the cold air. He was sober and reality had finally sunk in. There was no denying any more. He had no son. Gustave was not his. Tomorrow he would write to his lawyer and have divorce papers drawn up. Everything he had strived for in his marriage had been a complete waste.

He'd thought foolishly, that death was the worst thing that could have happened to a man, but somehow now that seemed a step above how he was feeling. Peering over the railing, he thought about jumping over and letting himself sink into the icy cold water of the Atlantic Ocean. He turned away from the rail quickly, ashamed of having such thoughts and looked back at the quiet city. The only sounds he could hear were the faint sounds of horse's hooves and the gentle lapping of the waves against the pier.

The pier. Of course…he knew where he wanted to go. He walked away from the water and toward his future, praying that he was making the right choice.

* * *

**Yikes It's been a while! Sorry...life. **


	11. Raoul and the Soubrette

Raoul stared at the door in front of him, trying to figure out what it was that he really wanted to do. He knew he should walk away immediately and go back to Christine to try and work things out, but he was so tired of fighting for her. He was exhausted in all honesty. Closing his burning eyes, he knocked twice on the door and heard a small voice call out from within.

"Just a moment!"

The door opened and Raoul found himself looking down at Meg Giry, who was wrapped tightly in her dressing gown. Her buttery blonde hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders and down her back like a gold curtain. The surprise in her face was evident from the way that her blue eyes widened at the sight of him standing before her in the snow, wet and cold. Heat flushed in her cheeks as she stared at him.

"Raoul…" She said tiredly, seeing the state she was in. With a great sigh, she said, "Come inside." And pulled him in by the arm, closing the door behind her. "I've just made a pot of tea. Please seat yourself. What is going on?"

Raoul watched as she daintily poured two cups of tea and gave him one while she sat across from him and held the other.

"It's done. Everything is ruined." He said after a moment's pause.

"What do you mean?"

"I confronted Christine about Gustave's parentage." He confessed and watched as she paled.

"Oh, Raoul…oh no…" She answered softly. Her eyes were alight with concern. "How did she react?"

"I accused her of using me…I was awful to her…and she tried to explain herself, but hearing the truth come out of her…it hurt so badly, I wanted to see her hurting too." He stifled a sob, setting the tea aside. "I always knew deep down that he wasn't mine, but to hear it come from her…I can't even explain how it wounded me." Vaguely, Raoul felt her arm wrap around his shoulders and Meg's soothing voice penetrate his haze of despair.

"I wish I had some words of advice, Raoul, but I don't know what to say. Christine is a sister to me and though I don't understand why she did what she did, I know that she is a good person inside. I just wish she would have told me…I wish she would have talked to me. I begged her to." Meg admitted, perching on the arm of Raoul's chair. "She locked her true self away for so long. And you," She said softly, squeezing his shoulder, "I can't imagine how hard this is for you, Raoul. You love Gustave so much."

"I really do." He choked, reaching for her hand and clinging to it. "I love him so much I can't even fathom that he doesn't belong to me."

"But he does belong to you." Meg insisted. He could feel her tentatively stroke his hair with a hand as gentle as an angel. "He loves you dearly, Raoul." She assured him. "I've seen the way he looks up to you. _You_ are the one he loves. _You're _his Papa."

"I'm just so tired of it, Meg." He admitted, looking up to meet her eyes. "I'm tired of being second best for everyone."

"You're not second best." She told him, touching his unshaven cheek. Her hand felt hot against his chilled skin. A thrill ran through his body at her touch. "I remember the first day you came to the Opera Populaire. Christine recognized you immediately, she was so happy. I remember I—" She stopped herself, blushing fiercely. "Well it's no matter now." A small laugh escaped her. "I was a silly, dreamy fifteen year old girl and I looked up to Christine. I aspired to be just like her. Everyone notices Christine. Not that I am bitter…I adore Christine. I just remember how upset she was after _Don Juan Triumphant _when he…he let you two leave. She wouldn't stop crying and all I kept thinking was, 'If Raoul would just look at me the way he looks at Christine, I would be so happy." A tear glittered in her eye, making it sparkle like a sapphire in the candlelight as she smiled sadly. "I know I was silly…and I shouldn't be telling you this, but I thought you should know. You were never second best to me." A sigh left her. "Maybe that's why I haven't married…because no one I met ever measured up to my dream of you."

"You never said anything…" Raoul said quietly, reaching for her. She backed away quickly, shaking her head.

"How could I ever?" She asked seriously. "Christine is my sister! What difference would it have made anyway? You loved her. The last thing I want to do is come between you two. I'd die if she ever found out."

"You're so lovely, Meg. I can't believe I never noticed before." He murmured, reaching out to brush a glinting gold lock behind her ear.

"I know you're hurting, Raoul." Meg whispered, pulling away further and moving across the room. "But I can't do this to Christine."

"You're right of course." Raoul replied, realizing the implications of what he was suggesting. It made him feel sick with guilt and with longing. For the first time in months, he was beginning to feel something real again. He moved toward the door, but paused before he could open it. "I've thought of you so often these past few days…I can't explain it, but when I saw your face waiting for us in that crowd, I felt like I had come home. All I could see was you. It was as if we were meeting for the first time. I wanted to touch your hair."

"You don't mean this, Raoul…" She said pleadingly, turning away and resting her forehead against the wall. "Please stop tormenting me."

"I do mean it. Meg, I'm tired of being so alone…I've always been alone. Look at me." He spread his arms, moving closer to her. "I've become a sad, pathetic drunk."

"No…" She began to protest, turning back to him. but he stopped her, pressing a fingertip to her rosy lips.

"I have." He insisted. "And I'm not proud of it. You're lonely too." Raoul added, putting his hands against the wall on either side of her head. "I can see the sadness in your eyes and it's the same as mine."

"Yes." She whispered, blinking rapidly against the tears he could see in her eyes. Looking away, she quickly pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm so ashamed, but I've dreamed of you saying things like that to me since I met you. At your wedding, I had a smile on my face, but I was secretly so envious of Christine. It was my darkest secret. I loved you as any woman loves a man. When I heard Christine tell me of the way you proposed to her over Christmas, on a sleigh ride, I wished it was me. And when she told me she wouldn't wear the ring on her finger for fear of…" Her voice dropped. "Because she was afraid _he_ would find out. I was so angry with her. We fought terribly that day, you know." Meg revealed. "I told her it was time for her to stop living in her stupid fairytale and realize what she had." Her face fell, and she ducked under his arms and moved around him. "Do you remember the day everyone got the notes? Yours warned you not to attempt to see Christine again? La Carlotta had one as well as the managers?"

"How could I forget?" Raoul asked with a sigh, turning to watch her. Meg's arms had wrapped around herself, as if protecting herself. "She had stood me up and I receive a message that she was with an 'Angel of Music?'"

"When you and I were trying to figure out what was going on…I knew even then that I was in love with you. It was shameful of me." Meg finished, sinking into a chair and staring at the floor. Raoul stared at her, trying very hard to remember that day over a decade before. Meg had been a tiny fifteen year old ballerina, a little blonde imp of a girl. Her eyes had been very large, he remembered, nearly too large for her doll-like face. Still, he remembered thinking she was precious in the way a brother would think of a younger sister. Raoul recalled that her eyebrows had furrowed as she looked over his note and they agreed that Christine must be protected.

"Oh Meg…" He murmured, moving to kneel before her chair. Taking one of her delicate hands into his, he kissed the back of it. "If only things could have been different for us all."

"Do you regret marrying Christine?" Meg inquired, looking worried. Raoul shook his head.

"No…I don't. I just see now that we were never meant for each other." Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pressed her palm to his cheek, delighting in the soft warmth of her hand. "I've been so selfish, keeping her for myself when I always knew what she really wanted…"

"Raoul. You don't know what you're saying. It's only been a few days…you aren't sure this is what you really want."

"All I know is what I've felt when I'm with you and how I feel when I am at home. Meg, for the first time in a long time, I feel _hope_. I don't feel the need to drink." Raoul looked into her eyes seriously. "I'm sober. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do…just let me hold you. Please…"

Leaning up on his knees, he studied her face for a moment. Her eyes were wide with anticipation and perhaps a bit of fear. He brought his fingertips slowly to the sides of her face and tipped her chin up. Softly he bent to brush his lips to hers, feeling her gasp in response. When he pulled away her eyes were closed, but a tear was making its way down her cheek. Tenderly, he kissed it to stop it from falling. Her eyes opened and met his, both of them unsure of what to do next.

"Nothing you don't want to do." He promised again. Her hands moved up to hold his shoulders and she pressed her cheek against his, feeling the sharp prickles of his unshaven skin.

"I want you to stay with me." Meg whispered against his cheek. "I may be ashamed in the morning, but I won't be tonight." Raoul's heart began to pound in his chest as he pulled her back to look at him.

"Are you certain?" He asked, standing up and also helping her to her feet. When she nodded, he stooped to sweep her into his arms, causing a small sound of surprise to leave her. "Where is your bedroom, Meg?" He whispered into her hair. She nodded toward the hallway, holding onto him around the shoulders, unable to speak.

The bedroom door was hanging open and the covers had been turned back already. With the utmost care, he laid her on the bed and loosened his cravat with trembling fingers. He could not bring himself to regret his decision when he looked at Meg. It felt right being here with her.

"What do I do?" Meg asked, hugging herself. Raoul urged her gently to lie down.

"Let me show you." He told her, lying down beside her and taking her into his arms. Running his hand lightly down her side, he stopped at the tie of her pink dressing gown. Carefully, he untied it and pulled the sash apart, exposing her modestly cut nightgown. Feverishly, her hands began to work at the buttons of his shirt. Chuckling, he took her wrist and kissed the inside of it, stopping her.

"No…let me." He told her, kissing her lips quickly. Swiftly, he unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open. Her bright eyes widened at the sight of his skin. Reaching down, he gripped the hem of her nightgown and brought it upward, lifting her so that he could get it over her head. Since she had been ready for bed, she wore no under things, but for her drawers that were held together with little more than a silk ribbon. Raoul was amazed at how voluptuous she was. At first glance, she appeared slender and thin, but with no corset to hold her in, she was lusciously curved as a woman should be.

"Oh Meg…" He breathed, afraid to touch her. Her entire body was flushed with modesty and she was unable to meet his eyes. Her arms moved to cover herself, but he stopped her. "Don't. Don't ever hide this…how beautiful you are." Moving slowly, he brushed his lips against her collar bone, feeling her sharp intake of breath. Her fingers came to twine into his light hair.

"Yes love, that's right. Touch me too. How lovely you are…" He told her, kissing her on the lips adoringly before bringing one of his hands up to cup a deliciously full breast. The pink tip of it had hardened in arousal and he grinned to himself before moving down and lightly running his tongue over the course flesh. A small mewl of surprise came from her as he twirled his tongue around the sweet little nub and then pulled back to blow on it, watching as it became harder. Keeping his eyes on her face, he repeated the same on the other watching in delight as her lips parted slightly and her back arched with her strain to get closer to him.

"Do you like that, sweetheart?" He asked hoarsely, feeling a rush of warmth as she nodded. Raoul wanted to cradle her in his arms and bury himself inside her already, but she was so new at this, he had to be mindful. He loved that he was her first…

_Her only…_

She was his own…and he felt something blossoming within himself that he had never even felt with Christine. He wanted to possess Meg, to make her forget that there were other men in the world. And he would…because for him there would be no other women. Ever.

Carefully, he moved his hand between her legs and felt the warmth of her arousal. When he touched her, she shivered and let out a long sigh. As he watched her face, he knew that she was completely his. Raoul was relieved to know that no one else was on her mind, keeping them apart. Tenderly, he took her face in his and kissed her passionately, feeling for the first time in years the yen for living that he'd lost. He moved over her and settled between her legs, bracing himself.

"Tell me to stop if it hurts too badly." He told her, brushing a golden lock out of her eyes.

"I will." She promised.

He pressed forward, remembering how easy it had been with Christine. Closing his eyes, he pushed the thought away and felt her body resist him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He whispered, pushing in and breaking her barrier. She cried out, clutching his shoulders. He paused, shaking with his own need and worry for her. A few moments later, she relaxed and nodded for him to go on. Taking her lips, he took a cautious thrust. When she did not protest, he pressed his lips to her throat and put his nimble hand between them, manipulating her flesh.

Meg's small moans became louder as he helped her. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his mouth to hers, muffling her final cry of desire. Grateful, Raoul finally allowed himself to release, shuddering violently. Somehow, he found the strength to move to her side and pull her into his arms. He wasn't sure how long he laid there before the darkness took him.

* * *

**Morning. **

Erik waited impatiently for the door to Christine's suite to be opened. The faint sound of piano music came from within as the door opened, flooding light into the hallway.

"The Vicomtesse is overseeing her son's piano practice." The butler explained, letting him into the suite. "I will let her know—"

"No." Erik said. "That's all right. I shall wait." The man nodded.

"Very good, Sir." He said, leaving the room. Erik drifted toward the doorway where the music was coming from. He could hear Christine's soft, patient voice praising her boy.

_His _boy.

"Take your time with the piece Gustave. You don't have to rush through, darling." She said. Again, the music began to play, this time more relaxed, more flowing. "It's a waltz darling…one, two, three…_one_, two, three…"

"Mother, could we do our song? Remember? The one you used to sing to me before bed?" Gustave asked hopefully. Erik heard the musical sound of her laugh and peered around the corner into the room. Christine was smiling, sitting beside her son at the piano.

"You take the bottom part, sweetheart." She said. Erik watched in fascination as they sang together a sweet song about love. It was one he had heard before, but it was somehow special to hear Christine sing it with her child. A pang of longing filled his chest as he watched them together. He could barely remember his own mother's face, but he was certain they had never interacted this way.

As they finished, Christine drew Gustave close and kissed his cheek. When she looked up, she noticed Erik standing in the doorway and paled. Gustave too, saw him and waved excited.

"Mr. Destler!" He cried, before he could stop himself. Christine turned to look down at her son.

"You _know _this man?" She asked in shock. Gustave met his mother's eyes sheepishly.

"Yes…I met him the other day with Madame Giry." He admitted. Christine looked confused.

"Why would Madame Giry take you to—"

"I asked her to." Erik said, nodding at the boy reassuringly. "It's all right."

"Gustave de Chagny, go to your room right now." Christine said quietly. "I will come and speak with you momentarily." Erik saw the boy swallow and leave with haste. When he looked back at Christine, she was glaring at him.

"What is the meaning of this, Erik?" She asked, crossing her arms. He had to struggle not to smirk.

"Where is your husband?" He asked, looking around the suite. Her dark eyes flashed with pain as she looked away.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Her voice was dry with disdain. "He told me you two spoke." Erik nodded.

"I would like to apologize for my behavior the other morning and to make sure the Vicomte made it home." He explained watching closely as she eyed him tiredly.

"Oh, he was here. And then he was gone."

"I'm sorry." He replied sincerely. "For all of our conflicts, I have always considered him a good man. I actually came to see if you wanted another rehearsal before the performance tonight." Christine sighed, leaning against the piano.

"Why, Erik? Why are we doing this? Can't we just leave the past behind?" She begged. Erik moved to stand beside her, looking down at her. She was more unkempt than he'd seen her since he'd told her goodbye ten years before. Her dark hair was down, the curls as unruly as they had been when she was a child. She had tied a ribbon to hold it all together, but her face was framed with lovely tendrils that had sprung loose.

"No Christine, I don't think we can." Erik said. "That doesn't work. Not for us." He met her eyes squarely. "How could you think I wouldn't guess?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, bemused.

"How could you think I wouldn't _know, _Christine?" The thunderous sound of his voice, surprised even him. "Confess it, Christine Daaè, damn you! How?"

"_How?_" Christine cried angrily. "You were gone! _You_ left _me,_ remember? Why would I assume that you wanted anything to do with your son when it was clear you didn't even want _me?_"

"So you do admit he is mine." Erik replied, feeling the breath go out of him as Christine slumped in defeat.

"I cannot deny it any more…I'm not even sure I want to." She said. "There has never been a plainer truth. Gustave is your son. I waited a full day for you to come back to me, but you didn't, so I went home and I married Raoul. I missed my monthly cycle right around the time we got married and I knew, but I said nothing. I waited until the following month to reveal I might be pregnant to him. The baby was born two months too early to be Raoul's child. He was large and healthy and perfect." Her eyes welled up with tears and her voice broke. "And he was all you."

His stomach dropped and the world seemed to fall away from them. The only thing he saw was Christine. The truth had finally been spoken and Erik was surprised to find he was speechless with emotion. Through the fog of his daze, he felt Christine touch his hand, twining their fingers together. Her skin was warm against his suddenly clammy palm.

"Forgive me." She whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I beg you…if you can. Since you've known me, I've brought you nothing but woe."

"Christine, you know that's not—" Erik interrupted her, breaking off abruptly, when he noticed someone standing in the doorway.

_Gustave._

* * *

**Ah, now the juicy part. Sorry if this is too much. It is rated M. I hope to finish this story by the end of June. :)**


	12. Author's Note: Random

**Quick Note: The lyrics in Love Never Dies actually read "Forgive me I beg you, if you can. I've brought you nothing but woe." I've decided to change it back to fit more in with the libretto. :) **

**That is all and I have begun working on the next part. **

**S.  
**


	13. Twisted Every Way

Erik watched as the child stood frozen near the doorway, his rosy cheeks gone pale.

"Gustave!" Christine cried out in surprise. The boy's eyes remained locked on Erik. Christine reached out to Gustave, but he shrank away, glaring at her.

"You lied to me." He murmured, sounding as if she had stabbed him.

"No, I – I didn't mean to. It wasn't like that, darling—"

"_He's _my _father_?" Gustave demanded, gesturing to Erik. Tearfully, Christine nodded, flitting her eyes over to meet Erik's. He remained calm, unresponsive. "And you never _told _me? What about Papa? Does he _know?_" It took everything Erik had in him to not rush over to the boy when he started to cry, obviously confused.

"Yes." Christine told him in defeat. "He knows."

"Did _you_ know?" Gustave asked, turning to Erik, who shook his head, taking pity on the boy.

"Until two days ago, I was not aware of your existence, Gustave. I must admit, though, that I concluded almost immediately upon seeing you that you were my son."

Tenderly, Christine touched an ebony lock of Gustave's hair, trying to console him, but he pushed her hand away angrily.

"Don't _touch _me!" He sobbed, moving away from her toward the door. Erik's instincts began to prickle. He knew from his experience that the boy was getting ready to run.

"Gustave, please—"

"_No!_ I want Papa!" He screamed, throwing the door open and sprinting out of the room to Erik's horror. About half a second after the door opened, Erik's wits returned to him and he went after the boy, hoping to stop him before he got outside to the bustling crowd of New York City. Gustave was extremely fast and was able to dart through people as Erik could not as an adult. Erik caught sight of him for a moment, just as he escaped the hotel and ran into the street, looking both ways.

Bounding through the doors, Erik scanned through the people hurrying about, but he could no longer see Gustave anywhere. Turning to the nearest person, he grabbed an older lady by the shoulders.

"Did you see where he went?" He barked, making her pale and goggle eyed.

"Who?" She asked weakly.

"There was a little boy…" He replied impatiently. "My _son._"

"I'm sorry, I—" A loud scream echoed through the crowded street. Erik turned to see Christine crouched in the middle of the street clutching something in her hand. Forgetting the old woman, Erik rushed to her side and drew her up to her feet, gently taking the object from her. His heart began to beat irregularly in his chest as he realized what it was.

Gustave's abandoned shoe.

* * *

Raoul's eyes opened slowly, adjusting reluctantly to his surroundings. For a moment, he actually had no idea where he was. In the corner of the darkened room, he noticed a pile of abandoned clothes and two pretty satin ballet slippers lying with the ribbons in disarray nearby. In an instant, everything came back to him. He was at Meg's apartment. In Meg's bed.

Look to his side, he found her lying awake, staring up at the ceiling with wide blue eyes. She had the covers arranged under her arms so that only from her shoulders upward was visible.

Meg must have noticed that he was awake, because she turned her eyes toward him, gripping the covers over herself modestly.

"Good morning." Raoul said, turning onto his side to face her. To his horror, her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her lower lips trembled. "Meg…" He breathed, reaching out to pull her into the curve of his arm.

"I am a horrible person." She whispered, sniffing.

"No." He soothed, brushing her hair back from her face. "That is not true."

"I shouldn't have told you how I felt. It was selfish of me." Her voice broke and she wrapped her arm around his waist, burying her face into his chest. Raoul could feel the warmth of her tears on his skin.

"Meg, please…" He begged, tilting her chin upward so that she would look at him. "I wanted this just as much as you did. Perhaps more. This has been coming a long time. I wish it could have happened differently, I admit, but I don't regret it. I don't feel sorry at all. It feels right. Don't say you don't feel it too."

"I do." She agreed, reaching up to touch his hair. "I've wanted this for so long. I just can't help feeling like I betrayed Christine."

"It's over, Meg." Raoul told her solemnly. "It's been over for a long time now."

"What do you mean?" Raoul nearly smiled at the innocence in her eyes.

"Sweetheart, Christine and I haven't been together as husband and wife in over a year." He admitted. "We don't even know each other anymore."

"But you seemed so happy." Meg said.

"It was all part of the show. People want to see us happy, so we pretend we're happy. I've been so alone these years, Meg." He told her, exposing his deepest secrets. "She never stopped loving him. So I turned to drinking to numb the pain, but it didn't help." He blinked against the tears in his eyes. "It made things worse. But I still kept drinking, trying to do anything to get away from the truth. The pain of being hung over was not as bad as the pain of knowing my wife was not in love with me…or that my son was not really mine."

"I…I didn't know." She said, touching his cheek. With a sigh, Raoul turned to press his forehead against hers.

"No one did." He replied, pulling her body closer to his. The softness of her bared skin beneath the sheets made him wrought with need again. "Everything has changed now, Meg. I'm never drinking again. I'm tired of running from my problems."

"Are we going to make love again?" She asked, making Raoul smile, watching the blush come to her cheeks.

"No." He answered, kissing her tenderly. "It's too soon after your first time and you need to rest. Did you sleep at all?"

"A bit." She said, nodding. Forcing himself to sit up, he pulled the covers over her and bent to kiss her cheek.

"I want you to sleep a while. I'm going back to the hotel to get my things. I'll try to be back before you wake." He quickly pulled on his clothes and knelt beside the bed. "And then, we're going to work this all out properly. I'm going to start doing things right from now on."

Meg was already asleep by the time he reached her front door. He made sure to lock it behind him as he stepped back out into the winter sunlight. He was grateful when he saw a cab and flagged it down. Raoul told the driver the hotel and paid him handsomely for it.

He was surprised to find the usually serene hotel in an uproar when he arrived. There were police and frantic people being interviewed everywhere. The employees were all pale and worried looking. Raoul became apprehensive as he approached the suite he had shared with Christine. He was startled to find the door hanging open and more police milling about the rooms. Before he could find Christine, he found himself pushed up against the wall by an officer.

"No guests allowed." He growled. Raoul held his hands up in surrender.

"I'm Raoul de Chagny…this is my room." He replied anxiously, wondering what was going on.

"I see." The man said, nodding him through to the parlor. Raoul saw _him_ first, standing behind the couch where Christine was sitting with her face buried in her hands. When she looked up, he could tell she'd been crying and for one terrible moment, he thought she knew what he'd done the night before.

"Where have you _been?_" She shrieked, flying off the sofa and flinging herself at him, her small fists flying with furious accuracy. Raoul gently caught her wrists and pulled her back to look at her.

"I…" He began, unsure of what to say. "Someone gave me a place to stay for the night."

"Well I'm _so_ glad _you're _all right." She said mockingly. "It's all right everyone! Raoul is fine!"

"Christine, calm down." He said, a feeling of dread coming into the pit of his stomach.

"I will _not_ calm down!" She screamed.

"Christine, love…" Destler said. Raoul's eyes widened.

_Love?_

"No!" She cried and Raoul really looked at her for the first time. Her hair was wild and unbound around her face. The chocolate brown eyes he had loved so much when they were children were red rimmed and swollen from crying and her lips were chapped. Christine had come undone and he wasn't quite sure what had done it, but he knew that he was scared to death of the possibilities. "He's been out doing God knows what while Gustave has been _missing!_" The words thundered in Raoul's mind like drums as they sunk in.

"Missing…?"

"He was kidnapped!" Christine cried, falling into hysterics again. Raoul watched as the man who had once tried to murder him comforted her while he stood there staring with his mouth hanging open. Gustave, his sweet Gustave, was gone. Someone had taken him. And if he hadn't been so selfish, he might have been here and perhaps could have done something.

"Why would someone kidnap him? Nobody even knows him, here?" Raoul asked, meeting the man's eyes. Destler looked dark.

"Someone has been threatening Christine, Chagny. She was shot at yesterday morning." He explained. Raoul's stomach dropped. That explained her sharpness when she had returned home and he hadn't even bothered to ask her what was wrong.

"Oh God…why?"

"He ran." Destler said, setting Christine down on the sofa. "I confronted Christine this morning and unfortunately, Gustave was listening and heard the truth."

"The truth about what?" Raoul asked, now becoming angry.

"You know what." Destler said, facing him squarely and looking challengingly into his eyes. "You know _exactly_ what." Raoul glared at his wife, who was sobbing into a pillow.

"What have you _done?_" He bellowed, fully panicked. "The child heard the truth that his father isn't his father and you expected him to react _favorably?_"

"I didn't mean for him to hear!" Christine fired back, rising again and moving so that they were face to face, glaring into each other's eyes.

"Well maybe if you would have told the truth from the beginning a few people's feelings could have been spared!" He replied acidly.

"Well maybe if you weren't a filthy drunk, you would have _known!_"

"Well maybe I _did _know! Did you ever think of that?" The room had gone silent, people watching wide eyed. "Why do you think I wanted to give you a baby so badly? I tried so hard! For some idiotic reason I thought that if I gave you a baby that it would make the truth about Gustave go away."

"Oh Raoul, I am so sorry…" Christine said, calming. She winced in agony and turned away. "I've hurt so many people in my life…especially those who I love most. My own child."

"Christine, do you think you're doing Gustave any good falling apart this way?" Raoul asked, taking pity on her. She stared at him with large, watery brown eyes.

"I know I'm not. But I don't know what else to do. Someone stole my child and I don't know who or why, but they are using him to bait me." Looking up at Destler, she shook her head. "I'm going to offer myself up for his release."

"No you most certainly are not." Destler replied sternly. Raoul nodded in agreement.

"That is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard you say, Christine Daaè." He added. "We will find Gustave."

"My lady." The breathless hotel concierge had appeared in the doorway, obviously having run up the stairs. "This just arrived." He held up an envelope, which Destler snatched out of his hand without so much as a thank you. Raoul put his arm around Christine's trembling shoulders.

"It's a ransom note." Destler affirmed, cursing sharply, handing it over to Raoul and Christine.

_Christine Daaè, _

_I have your son. Such a pretty boy. It would be a shame to see him die. Don't worry I have no intention of actually killing him. Yet. You will meet me on the roof of the Aerie Theater fifteen minutes before the show tonight. Don't be late, for every second that you are, his time runs thin. _

"What do they _want?_" Christine asked, scouring it again. "How can it be a ransom note if they haven't asked for anything?"

"They have." Destler replied, looking paler than Raoul had ever seen him. "They want you."

"Like _hell._" Raoul said, tightening his grip around her shoulders. Destler met his eyes knowingly.

"For once, I agree with the Vicomte. Here is the plan. We will all three go together to the roof. I will have my men ready at the door in case this person tries to run."

"What about Gustave?" Raoul asked, concerned. Destler nodded grimly.

"They won't hurt him." He said confidently. "Whoever it is has no purpose for killing him. They want Christine." He looked down at Christine. "I don't know what you did, sweetheart, but this is ugly." A small noise came out of Christine as she began to cry again. Raoul let go of her when Destler pulled her by the shoulders into an embrace. Uncomfortably, Raoul turned away, looking elsewhere.

"Sir? There's a Miss Giry here to see the Vicomtesse." One of the police officers said. Raoul tensed as he turned toward the door.

Meg.

* * *

Christine stared vacantly at her reflection in the mirror of her dressing room. Her face was pale, eyes red and hair in disarray. Her pulse pounded through her veins thunderously as she pondered what would become of her and Gustave tonight. The thought of him being in the hands of a crazed murderer made her ill. Erik lingered nearby, outside the dressing room, giving her space. Raoul had gone off somewhere, talking with the police. Meg sat near the vanity, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. There was an air of guilt about Meg, who was usually bright and positive. She kept looking at Christine apprehensively as if Christine would snap at any moment.

"Meg?" Christine said softly, meeting her eyes. Her heart sank as realization set in. Could Meg have had something to do with her son's disappearance? It made sense. Whoever this person was, had known Christine since her chorus days at the opera. They were obviously bitter about something she had done. Meg had admitted more than once that she felt overshadowed by Christine…It fit.

"What have you done?" She whispered, horrified. The color ran out of Christine's cheeks.

"What are you t-talking about?" Meg asked, looking around the room.

"Meg, you have to tell me the truth." Christine said, trying to remain calm in case she was going to do something rash. Meg shook her head, tears filling her eyes, confirming the guilt.

"I know what you did." Christine said, looking toward the door and making sure that no one was standing there. Meg stood up, putting her hands up in defeat.

"Oh God! I knew you would find out! I didn't mean for it to happen, I just—"

"So you admit it!" Christine cried. "How could you do this to me? You're my _sister!_"

"I know! I feel terrible, I'm so ashamed!" Meg sobbed, backing up and getting trapped against the wall as Christine advanced on her.

"You are disgusting! I can't believe I've trusted you!"

"Christine!" Raoul's voice came from the doorway. "What are you doing?"

"I know the truth about _her_, Raoul! She's a snake! She just confessed to taking Gustave!" Christine said viciously, turning to look at him.

"Wh-What?" Meg said in confusion, looking at both of them tearfully. "T-Taking Gustave?" She hiccupped with her sobs.

"You just admitted it!" Christine said, tears spilling out of her eyes.

"N-No." Meg said.

"Christine, you don't know what you're talking about and you need to stop." Raoul said firmly, looking at her as if she were insane. Erik must have heard the commotion and come into the room because he was standing inside the door.

"I will _not_ stop!" Christine screamed. "Meg stole my child! I want him back!" She wept, attacking Meg. "I want him back _now!_"

"Enough!" Raoul said, hauling her off of Meg and nodding to Erik, who came without stall to restrain her. She fought against his iron grip unsuccessfully.

"She's a kidnapper! _I want her arrested!_" Christine said, unhinged. Meg's eyes were wide as saucers, she was white as a ghost.

"Stop it, Christine!" Raoul shouted. "She did _not _take Gustave!"

"How do you know?" Erik asked rationally. "We have no proof of where she was this morning." He gave Meg a suspicious look. Christine watched as Raoul moved to block Meg's body with his own, putting his arms out. He sighed deeply, looking back at her.

"I know Meg didn't take him because," He met Christine's eyes tiredly, "I spent the night with her."

* * *

**It's about to get really ugly really quickly here. :) Thank you so so so SO much to my readers and reviewers. They make my day. **

**S. **


	14. Dear Old Friend

"What?" Christine asked, eyeing Raoul in disbelief. Raoul's heart was thumping violently in his chest as he watched his wife. He sighed in defeat.

"When I left after our argument yesterday, I ended up at Meg's doorstep." He explained, avoiding Destler's narrowed eyes. "We…spent the night together."

"Oh my God…" Meg muttered from behind him, leaning her forehead against his back.

"You slept with her?" Christine asked. Destler suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

"Yes." Raoul affirmed, weary.

"Oh dear lord…" Christine said, looking away. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

"It was more than that, Christine." Raoul said, trying to ignore the fact that he was shaking. "I've been feeling things in myself that I thought were dead these past few days. Ever since we saw Meg at the port when we arrived, I haven't been able to think about anything else."

"I don't know what to say…" Christine said, staring in bemusement at him. "Meg, I'm so sorry for accusing you of taking Gustave." She said, swallowing. Meg moved around the Raoul's side and looked at her sister miserably.

"I understand." She said in a small voice. "I'm so sorry for…everything."

"It's been over between us longer than I'd care to admit, Christine." Raoul said, taking her hand. "We need to stop deluding ourselves in this marriage, sweetheart."

"This is my fault." Christine said sadly. "I should have told you before we married about, well…" She gestured to Destler. Raoul marveled at the man's composure in a bad situation.

"That was ten years ago." Raoul said, shaking his head. "You were a scared sixteen year old girl. You didn't know what you wanted."

"It's no excuse." Christine replied, full of remorse. "Worst of all, you were my best friend."

"I still am." Raoul argued, unable to hold back a smile. "I love you, Christine. I always have." Christine's face broke.

"I love you too." She said, flinging herself into his arms and breaking down. "I'm so sorry."

"Christine." Erik's voice broke through the tension. She could detect that he was on edge. "It's time to go to the roof."

"We're all coming." Raoul said, reaching for Meg's hand. Her eyes lit up with something Christine had seen before but had never put together.

Meg had always been in love with Raoul.

Christine's heart filled with joy for the two of them, who had somehow found each other through all of this chaos and come out better for it. She wished she could say the same for herself, but instead of everything being so easy now, it conflicted her further. She wanted to be jealous and angry with Raoul for breaking their marriage vows and yet, she wanted nothing more than to go home to Erik's bed and pick up where they left off. She still loved her husband, but even more than that, it was clear now that she really wanted Erik. And that was a relief.

Rather than take Erik's arm, she walked beside him with her arms folder, her mind pounding with worry for Gustave. She wanted nothing more than to have her child back. Erik seemed to have notice her distress when they reached the stairs, when his arm draped over her shoulders and pulled her against his side.

"We'll find him." He assured her. "I'll take care of it."

"Will you kill this person?" Christine asked quietly, looking up into his shimmering green eyes. They were dark.

"If the need arises, yes, I will dispose of this criminal." He replied darkly.

"And if the need doesn't arise?"

"I will simply make the rest of their life a living hell until they beg for death." Erik told her. "And if they've done anything to him, I'll make them wish they were never born."

"I second that." Raoul interjected, surprising Christine.

"Easy boy…just remember to keep your head." Erik warned. "Nobody act out of rash emotion." He stopped the four of them at the door to the roof and turned to face everyone. "Before we see what waits behind this door, you need to listen to me. One, do not panic. Panic does nothing but hinder you." Christine glanced at Meg, whose eyes were wide with fear. "Two," He went on, "Assess the resources you have. And three, be smart."

Light flooded into the hallway as Erik thrust the door open. Christine's breath caught in her throat as she followed Erik out onto the roof of his theater. Meg's hand slid into hers while Raoul and Erik looked around frantically.

"There's nobody here." Raoul said. Erik made a noise of irritation.

"Of course there's no one here. There's no way anyone could have gotten through the theater with a _child_, much less through my men." Erik growled.

"Wait!" Meg cried, looking down. "Look there!" Christine followed his gaze and looked at the ground. There was an envelope lying there addressed to Christine. She rushed forward and tore it open.

_Christine Daa__è,_

_Now you know what it is like to have what you love most taken from you. If you value your son's life, you will not perform tonight and will come to the pier. It is in the boy's best interest. _

"He's at the pier!" Christine cried, thrusting the note into Erik's hands. A commotion at the door interrupted them as one of Erik's employees dragged another man out onto the roof.

"Mr. Destler!" He said, "I caught this man loitering up here just a few minutes earlier." Swiftly, Erik glided over to the man and grabbed him by the throat.

"Thank you Dawson." He said, "Talk, you."

"P-Please! I was simply given orders to bring this note to the roof." He gagged.

"By who?"

"There were instructions with it. I assumed it was from you, sir." He explained feverishly. Erik cursed gruffly, dropping the man to the ground.

"I will not be toyed with this way. My theater has been infiltrated with traitors…Dawson!"

"Sir?" The other employee stepped forward.

"Find out who is betraying us. We will be at the pier, retrieving my son." He cleared his throat. "We may have to cancel the performance, but do nothing until you hear my orders."

"What do we do?" Christine asked softly. Erik turned to her.

"We're going to the pier, love." He informed her. "Dawson, get my carriage ready."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Erik sat across from the Vicomte in his carriage on the quick ride to the pier. Meg Giry looked like she might be ill at any second and Christine slumped against the window miserably. She looked physically drained. He couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Not only had she lost her son today, she'd had to confess one of her deepest secrets and had found out her husband had fallen in love with her best friend. He was surprised to realize how much he still loved her, even after all this time.

It was hard to try and imagine living a life with her as a normal human. He didn't know how to share a home or how to just enjoy someone's company without worrying that they were going to leave him miserable. The thought of sitting at the dinner table with Christine and Gustave while having a mundane conversation seemed an unobtainable dream. Thinking of Gustave made his stomach clench in fear for the boy. He'd only known for three days that he was a father and he was terrified of losing the only other person he was related to in the world. Someone he'd fallen in love with in an instant.

With a final halt, the carriage stopped. Erik could see the pier out of the window, but no one was in sight. It was after hours now, the sun had set already and it was freezing. Light flurries had begun to swirl down from the sky, catching in the dim light from the street lamp. Erik tore the door open and pulled Christine down into the street. The Vicomte got out and turned to Meg.

"Listen, I want you to stay near the carriage." He said, squeezing her hand.

"No." She told him. Erik could see her trembling. "I'm as much a part of this now as all of you. I'm coming." Ignoring Chagny's hand, she jumped down herself and began walking after them. The viscount stared dumbly at her for a moment before catching up. Erik ran onto the pier, holding Christine's icy hand. Her teeth were chattering with fear and the bitter cold.

"I've been expecting you." A heavily accented voice came from behind them. Erik recognized it in an instant, whirling to face the intruder. A woman, aged by bitterness stood there, holding his son, who was blindfolded, gagged and tied. In her thin hand was clutched a pistol, which she had pressed against his temple. Erik's heart began to beat irregularly. Christine let out an anguished cry.

"Chagny, keep her back!" He barked at the Vicomte. "What do you want, Carlotta?"

"I wait ten years for zis." She hissed, glaring at Christine. She wore a heavy coat of makeup and her once lovely red hair was now limp and faded. Once, she had been a voluptuous woman, now she looked like no more than a skeleton with skin hanging off of her bones. Her cheekbones were too prominent and she seemed to sway on her feet. "You _steal_ my career, Christine Daaè! It is _your_ fault my Piangi is dead!" Her heavily made up eyes fell to the child who was whimpering through his gag. Erik tried to reassure him with his eyes, but the boy was crying. "Well, I find out your little secret when you come…_zis!_" Glaring at Erik, she shook Gustave. "I take one look at zis boy and know he not ze Vicomte de Chagny's son! I always know zat you were a _slut,_ Christine Daaè!" Cocking the gun, she gave Christine a sneer. "So now you do what I say…I will sing tonight. I will be ze star I should still be!"

"You can have anything you want, just don't hurt my boy!" Christine sobbed, struggling against her husband's grip. "Please give him to me."

"If you move one step closer, I kill him!" Carlotta shrieked.

"Carlotta, let's talk about this calmly." Erik said, looking sharply at Christine. "You're right…" He said soothingly, reaching discreetly into his coat. "Put the gun down...we both know your quarrel is really with me. Not Christine…and not the boy."

"Why should I not?" She challenged, crying. "You kill my love…why should I not kill yours?"

"Because you're better than this, La Carlotta." Erik told her, wrapping his fingers around something.

"No opera would hire me, because I work for Opera Populaire…because of _you_!" She screamed into the night, her voice echoing off the water. "My career was destroyed."

"We can fix that…just put down the gun Carlotta." Looking over at Christine, she was in near hysterics while the Vicomte and Meg Giry tried to hold her still.

"Let him go…" She wept aloud. Erik watched Gustave shake his head frantically unable to see or speak. Erik knew that he was trying to make her stop so that she did not provoke Carlotta any more. Incensed by Christine's outburst, Carlotta dropped Gustave to the ground and pointed the gun at Christine. Erik slowly pulled out what he had been concealing and met the Vicomte's eyes with a nod. Snapping her head, Carlotta looked at him and saw the lasso gripped in his gloved hands. Outraged, she pointed the gun at Gustave once again and pulled the trigger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Vicomte lunge forward, pushing Christine and Meg back out of the way.

In the flurry of movement, Erik released the lasso and caught her around the neck. With one pull, he snapped her neck and she fell to the ground in a sad heap. Forgetting the corpse, he spun around to see what had been done to Gustave and found the Vicomte huddled over him, protectively. An enlarging spot of blood was spreading over the back of Chagny's coat.

"Damn." Erik hissed, gently moving the viscount over to lift up Gustave into his arms while Christine and Meg fell to the ground to see to Raoul. Quickly, Erik untied and removed the gag and blindfold and held the boy, shielding his eyes from the sight of the injured man who had raised him.

"It's in his back!" Christine sobbed, turning him over and cradling his head in her lap. "Oh Raoul, no!"

"Christine," Erik said, "Come see to your son." He rubbed the shivering child's back, trying to comfort him before he set him down beside his mother, who pulled his head into her shoulder and covered his face with her hand. Erik knelt down beside Chagny, looking into his deathly pale face. His eyes were unfocused and his lips were partly open as he panted, but he was breathing regularly, which was a good sign.

"Stay with us, Chagny." Erik demanded, removing his jacket and folding it under his head. "We'll get you help."

"Can't feel my legs…" Raoul whispered. Gustave broke free of his mother and rushed to the opposite side of the Vicomte.

"Don't die, Papa." Gustave said, touching Raoul's cheek. "Please…" Raoul smiled, reaching up to Gustave's face.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere." Raoul promised weakly.

"Will you still be my Papa?" Gustave asked, giving Erik a long glance.

"I always be in your life. I swear." Raoul told him. "Nothing changes that." He looked at Christine. "Nothing." She tried to smile at him, but her face contorted and she sobbed instead. Falling to Erik's side, she bent to kiss Raoul's forehead.

"I'm so sorry for everything." Her voice quavered.

"I know." He said, smiling. "Me too."

"I love you, Raoul." Christine whispered.

"I know, Little Lotte. I know." He assured her, looking up to Meg, who was sitting silently beside Gustave. "I love you." He said, grinning at her. Christine moved around Raoul to lift Gustave off the ground and hold him tightly. Erik too rose to give Raoul his moment.

"I've always loved you." Meg said, moving closer and taking his face in her hands.

"Marry me…" Raoul said, drifting off just as the police arrived.

"We had reports of gunfire." One of the officers informed them.

"That woman kidnapped my son." Erik explained. "She said to meet her here."

"And you didn't contact authorities?" The man asked, irritated.

"There was no time." Erik said impatiently. "And that man," He pointed at Raoul, "was shot."

"And the woman?"

"Dead." Erik said firmly. "I—"

"She went crazy and killed herself." Meg Giry interrupted quickly. "She hung herself from the rail after shooting the Vicomte de Chagny. We cut her lose, but it was too late! Her neck was broken."

"That man is the Vicomte de Chagny?" The police officer said, his voice changing to concern. "We'd better get him to the hospital. You're all very lucky." He added, turning to inform the other police officers of the situation. "We need to get this man to the hospital and send for the coroner."

"Is the child well?" The officer asked, eyeing Gustave.

"He is now." Erik agreed.

"Who is going to come to the hospital with the Vicomte?"

"I am." Meg said, looking at Christine. "There's still time before the performance. Go sing." Christine looked up in surprise.

"I'd almost forgotten." She said, meeting Erik's eyes. "Should I?"

"I think Raoul would want that." Meg told her.

"I think so too." Erik agreed. "But we have to hurry."

* * *

**Uggghhhhhh...**


	15. Life May Be Fleeting

"No. I can't leave him…" Christine said, hesitating. "I won't perform. Not while Raoul's life is at risk."

"Do you really think you're doing him any good sitting around the hospital and worrying?" Erik asked gently. "Look, after the performance, you have my word that we will leave immediately." Christine looked over at Meg, who nodded encouragingly.

"You owe it to yourself." She agreed.

"I can't…" Christine said, torn.

"Christine…" Raoul's weak voice came from the gurney he'd been put on. Without pause, she rushed over to him, peering down into his face. "You have to sing." He whispered.

"What about you?" Christine asked, blinking rapidly against her tears.

"Don't worry about me…I'll be fine. But if you don't do this for yourself, you won't." He squeezed her hand. "We traveled all the way here and damned if you're not going to see it through." He smiled. "Otherwise, this –" He gestured to his wound, "Will have been a waste of my time."

"He's right." Erik said, touching her shoulder. "Your whole life, the only thing that has remained constant for you was your love of music. And I am sure the Angel – may your father rest in peace – would hate to see you spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

"I'm not going anywhere, Christine." Raoul rasped. "But I want you to do this…for me."

"For you." Christine nodded, kissing his forehead. "I'll never regret being your wife, Raoul de Chagny."

"Nor will I regret being your husband." He sighed, closing his eyes. Christine turned to face Erik and tried to smile unsuccessfully.

"I'm ready." She sobbed.

They arrived back at the theater with five minutes to spare before the performance. Christine dashed into her dressing room to fix herself quickly. Luckily, she was last in the concert, so there was still time. Erik took Gustave into his office and sent Dawson to fetch some hot cocoa and cookies that had been made for after the performance.

The boy was quiet, sitting in his chair with tired eyes. His dark hair hung messily over his face and he slouched as if he were too exhausted to even think of sitting up. Erik sat at his desk, watching him closely.

"Do you think I look like you?" Gustave asked aloud, surprising Erik. His eyes met the boy's.

"I do." He affirmed, folding his hands casually and crossing his legs. "I thought it the first time I saw you a few days ago."

"Do you love my mother?"

"Yes." Erik replied without hesitation. "I always have."

"I'm sorry for running away earlier." Gustave said remorsefully. "I walked outside and then I was going to come back in but before I could, I was grabbed from behind."

"It's all right." Erik assured him. "You were under quite a lot of stress. I understand."

"Do I have to call you, Father?" He asked, nearly making Erik choke.

"Er…no. I mean, that is…you can if you want to, but I would never expect that of you." He stammered, caught off guard.

"Thank you…it's all a bit confusing." Gustave admitted, looking down at his hands.

"Believe me, I know. But let's try to be friends before we become anything else." He met Gustave's eyes. _His _eyes. "Agreed?" The boy smiled.

"Agreed." He nodded. Dawson appeared, carrying a tray with the cocoa and a cup of tea for Erik along with gingerbread cookies.

"Here sir." Dawson said, setting them in front of Gustave, who dove into them, starved.

"Thank you, Dawson." Erik said, feeling lost.

"I understand sir," He replied with a grin. "I have four of my own…"

"Does it get any easier?" Erik asked desperately, watching Gustave devour two cookies at once. Dawson chuckled.

"No, sir. It gets worse." The two men shared a wry grin and Dawson turned to leave.

"Oh, Dawson?" Erik called out, stopping him.

"Sir?"

"I'm giving you a raise. I'd like you to run the theater for a while. I need some time off." Dawson's eyes glittered with shock, but he smiled.

"Thank you sir, I won't let you down."

"I know you won't." They both grinned as Dawson left the room and Gustave stopped eating with only a half a cookie left.

"Um…I'm sorry, did you want this last bit?" He asked Erik, looking worried. Erik laughed, shaking his head.

"They're all yours."

"Can I ask you one more thing, Monsieur?" Gustave said cautiously. Erik closed his eyes, knowing exactly what was coming.

"Of course." He answered evenly, watching the boy's face.

"Would you show me your face?" He asked, looking hopeful. Erik nodded.

"Yes. But I'm going to warn you…it isn't nice to look at." He warned.

"I'm a brave person." Gustave insisted. Erik smiled, despite his hammering heart.

"I think you've proven that tonight." He agreed, reaching up to the edge of his mask. "All right." Closing his eyes, he removed the mask carefully, unable to look at his son's reaction to the mess that was his face. A long moment passed with no sound from the boy. Erik finally found the courage to open his eyes. Gustave was staring thoughtfully at him while chewing on a piece of gingerbread.

"It's not _that_ bad…" Gustave said. "It's just not that great." Erik, despite himself, let out a sharp chortle.

"You are something, child." He mused, replacing the mask on his face.

"Are there any more cookies?" Gustave asked excitedly. "These are wonderful!"

"Sure…but how about after your mother sings?" Erik offered, rising and reaching his hand out for Gustave to take, which he did. The two of them made their way backstage to the wings just as Christine was getting ready to go out and perform. She looked as lovely as she had the night she'd performed in _Hannibal_ eleven years before. Her long hair was curled and hanging down her back and she wore a lavender ball gown with intricate beading along the bodice and down the skirt. Her face was taut with nerves.

"I'm going to have a nervous breakdown, Erik." She told Erik, kissing Gustave's cheek.

"You're going to be fine." He said hoarsely, unsure of what to say to her to convey how she made him feel. "You look beautiful." Her eyes filled with tears at his compliment, but she smiled widely at him, looking no more than a girl of seventeen rather than a woman of twenty-seven.

"Erik, I…" She began, trailing off as the last song ended and it was time for her to go on. She turned to walk onstage and stopped, coming back and throwing her arms around his neck. Erik was surprised, but kissed her, lifting her feet off the ground momentarily.

"You'd better go." He whispered, setting her on her feet. A smile crept onto her face as she walked out on the stage. The music started gently as she took her place center stage and smiled serenely at the audience, who applauded wildly for her.

"_Who knows when love begins, who knows what makes it start? One day it's simply there…alive inside your heart."_ She looked over at Erik and Gustave with a small smile. "_It slips into your thoughts…it infiltrates your soul. It takes you by surprise then seizes full control."_ As she gained confidence, she began to walk forward, drawn by the music she had abandoned for so long. "_Try to deny it and try to protest. But love won't let you go…once you've been possessed…" _

"She sounds wonderful." Gustave said. Erik nodded in agreement, watching her sing as if she'd never given it up. It made ten years of agony disappear and it gave him hope that they could start over. They watched together as her voice made the magnificent climbs and trills with easy perfection.

"I taught her how to sing…but she's gone far beyond anything I could have hoped for." Erik told him, watching Christine sing the triumphant final notes of his aria. Predictably, the audience was on its feet as she finished, applauding ferociously. Erik could see her chest heaving with exhilaration and still the underlying fear for Raoul's life. When she turned to look for him, he knew exactly what she wanted.

"Come Gustave, put your coat on." He said, helping the boy into his jacket as Christine rushed offstage.

"Maman, you were wonderful!" Her son exclaimed, throwing his arms around her.

"Thank you, love." She kissed the top of his dark head, meeting Erik's eyes over the boy's curls. "It's a beautiful aria, Erik. And I felt beautiful singing it."

"You were." He insisted in a choked voice that he didn't recognize. He'd never had difficulty speaking before, but the sight of her staring up at him with adoring eyes was something he'd once only dreamed of. He knew instantly that he would not survive losing her again.

"Christine Daaè!" Voices all around them began to call out to her. Member of the press and society, trying to congratulate her, trying to get her into their papers. Silently, Erik put one arm around Christine and the other around Gustave and ushered them through the throngs of people until they were once again outside. His carriage was awaiting them.

* * *

Meg held Raoul's hand then entire way to the hospital, praying silently that he would live through this. He'd fallen asleep again and did not move an inch when he was carried in. The doctors informed her that he would need immediate surgery on his back to determine whether the bullet had pierced his spinal cord and done permanent damage to him.

While Raoul was in surgery, Meg was left alone, shivering in the darkened waiting room for news, any news.

"Meg?" Meg looked up to see her mother standing before her in a dark gray wool gown. Her red hair was coiled at the nape of her neck in a loose chignon.

"Mother." She whispered tiredly, falling into her mother's arms.

"Erik sent me here. What happened?"

"It was Carlotta…" Meg said, sitting down and pulling her mother to sit beside her. "Carlotta Giudicelli."

"The old opera diva?" Antoinette exclaimed, horrified.

"She kidnapped Gustave. It's been her who has been following Christine and trying to hurt her. She put a gun to his head!" Meg cried.

"Sweet Jesus." Antoinette muttered, putting her hand to her cheek. "Where is she now?"

"Dead." Meg replied, swallowing. "Monsieur Destler, he…he had to."

"What do you mean?"

"She shot at Gustave and that was when…well when…Raoul jumped in front of the bullet to save him. So Monsieur Destler used his lasso to snap her neck and she died." A heaving sigh of exhaustion left her as she leaned down and put her head on her mother's shoulder.

"What is your part in all of this, Marguerite?" Antoinette asked suspiciously. "Why were you with them? Why are you the only one here while the Vicomte is in surgery?"

"Oh Maman, I…" Meg looked down in embarrassment. "It's hard to explain."

"Try." Antoinette said sharply. Meg nodded, knowing there was no way around it.

"I've fallen in love with him. We were together last night." She admitted, watching her mother's face lose all color.

"Marguerite Giry! _Il est un homme mariè!_"

"I know!" Meg cried. "I know he's married!" She looked down. "They are getting a divorce."

"What do you mean, 'We were together last night'?" Antoinette inquired. Meg could only stare at her with wide, horrified eyes. "_Non! __Êtes-vous fou? Je vous ai enseigné mieux que ce, fille!_"

"I'm not sorry." Meg said defiantly. "I love him."

"_Vous ne savez pas ce qu'est l'amour._" Her mother replied, shaking her head. "Does he love you back?"

"I don't know." Meg said, shrugging. "But I'm twenty-six years old. I am old enough to make my own mistakes…do you love me less for being with him?"

"Of course not." Antoinette scolded angrily. "How could you ever think that? _Je ne veux pas que vous deveniez blessé._"

"I love you, Mother." Meg said, throwing her arms around the woman who was so dear to her.

"Are you the Vicomtesse de Chagny?" A voice came from the door. Meg stood quickly, trembling all over. She knew if she told the truth that she would not be given any information.

"Yes. I'm Christine de Chagny." She affirmed.

"Ah." The man nodded. "Your husband is out of surgery and is sleeping. We removed the bullet, which did graze the spine but luckily did not pierce it. He is paralyzed for the moment from the waist down. At this time, we cannot be sure if it will remain so, but we are hoping it is just temporary damage. We should know in a few weeks when it heals."

"He's going to live?" Meg asked, afraid to hope.

"Yes ma'am." The doctor smiled. "He's a lucky man." Meg sank into her mother's embrace as tears began to pour over her eyes.

"May I see him soon?"

"As soon as he wakes up, I will have you shown in." The doctor said, nodding at her before he disappeared through the door again.

"You really do love him, don't you?" Antoinette asked, wiping Meg's cheeks. Meg nodded.

"I have for a long time." They were greeted once more by voices, this time, familiar. Christine, Gustave and Erik burst through the door, all out of breath.

"How is he?" Christine gasped as Gustave charged into Antoinette's waiting arms.

"_Remerciez Dieu que vous allez bien, mon chéri._" She murmured into his hair. "Thank goodness."

"The doctor just spoke with us." Meg explained gently. "He's going to live, but…"

"But?" Christine asked, her eyebrows raising. Meg sighed.

"He's paralyzed from the waist down. They aren't sure if it's permanent, but the bullet did not pierce his spinal cord, thank God."

"Oh God!" Christine cried, burying her face in her hands.

"He's lucky." Erik mused, running a handing worriedly through his hair and letting out a long exhale. "He's damn lucky."

"When can we see him?" Christine asked, pulling herself together.

"He's asleep now." Meg informed them, looking down. "I…had to tell them I was you to get them to give me information. I hope you won't be angry."

"Of course, love. Not at all." Christine assured her, kissing her cheek. "I don't know what I would have done if not for you."

"I really am sorry for what happened last night." Meg said remorsefully. "I would die before hurt you."

"Meg," Christine took her hand and walked her near the window. "This is my fault. I should have never let things go this far. All of this could have been avoided if I'd just told Raoul the truth before we married. Maybe then the two of you could have been together happily and none of this would have happened."

"No. He loved you then." Meg protested. "It would have been worse for him."

"It's no matter now I suppose, since it's been ten years and here we all are." Christine looked nervously into Meg's eyes. "Meg…if he can't ever walk again, will you still love him?" Surprised, Meg looked up at her.

"I'm here aren't I?" She asked. "I didn't fall in love with his legs, I fell in love with his heart."

"Good." Christine sighed in relief.

"Mrs. De Chagny?" A female voice came from the doorway this time.

"Yes?" Christine and Meg both said at the same time. Remembering quickly, Christine fell back, nodding toward Meg as the rightful wife.

"He's awake. He's asking for Meg…"

"That's her middle name." Christine said, pushing Meg forward.

"I can only let one person in at a time since he is such a high risk patient." The nurse said apologetically. Meg met Christine's eyes.

"What do I do?" She asked, lost.

"Tell him how you feel." Christine said, smiling sadly. "He's waited too long already."

* * *

**Remember "Wheelchair Raoul" in Phantom? More soon. **


	16. The Real Erik Destler

Meg paused in the doorway of Raoul's hospital room, looking to the doctor for guidance. He nodded to reassure her.

"It's all right, Lady de Chagny." The sound of that name being directed at her made Meg's insides tingle with hope. Bracing herself, she looked past the doctor at Raoul's limp form. He was shirtless with a white bandage wrapped around his middle. His skin was pale, but he looked better than he had on the way to the hospital. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. They turned to look when she came in the room and he tried to smile.

"How are you feeling?" Meg asked hesitantly, hanging back so she did not crowd him.

"Hurts like the devil." Raoul croaked with a wry grin. "But I'm going to live."

"I know…they told me." She said, trying very hard to hold back the sudden tears in her eyes.

"They said I might be paralyzed. Are you still willing to take me on?" Raoul asked seriously, indicating his legs. "I'll be an invalid for a while."

"Oh Raoul, how could you even think that?" Meg asked, giving in and perching on his bed. He took her hand. "I'd take you if you were no more than a head." She sobbed, making him chuckle.

"What a thought." He said, wincing against a pain as he struggled to get comfortable. "The doctor did say that he is optimistic that I will not remain paralyzed since my spinal cord is unaffected and that I will walk again, but that I will most likely have terrible back pain from time to time."

"We'll deal with it as it comes. Don't get your hopes up too much though, Raoul." Meg said, trying to remain realistic. "If you can't walk again, it doesn't matter to me."

"Thank you." Raoul told her earnestly. "You're too good."

"No. I'm just in love with you." Meg said, smiling tiredly at him. Her breath caught as his eyes filled with tears and he reached for her. She bent down and let him bring her to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"I love you, too." He said, looking her in the eyes. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it."

"I told my mother about us." Meg said after a moment, biting her lip nervously. "She was a bit put out, but she quickly came around. I thought I'd better warn you."

"Just what I need…your mother of all people, angry at me." He laughed, despite himself. "I suppose she had better get used to the idea of us."

"Really?" Meg asked, pressing his hand to her cheek.

"Of course," He replied, yawning. "I intend on marrying you as soon as possible. Once the divorce is final…when I'm as well as I'm going to get."

"Do you mean it?" She asked, afraid to hope.

"If you're thinking of running you'd better get going," He teased. Meg watched his eyes fall closed as he drifted off. She kissed his forehead and rose to rejoin her mother and Christine.

* * *

"The doctor said he thinks that Raoul will be able to walk again." Meg informed everyone in the waiting area. "His spinal cord wasn't hit, thank God."

Christine sank into a chair weakly, exhausted from the longest day of her life. Gustave was fighting sleep beside her. She saw him relax as Meg told them the good news. She couldn't imagine how her son was feeling at the moment after finding out who his real father was and then being kidnapped on top of it. Though she knew Gustave was unsure about Erik, she saw that they had come to some sort of understanding in the short time that they had spent together while she was performing.

The thought of a comfortable bed nearly made Christine weep with longing. Her head felt heavy and her eyes hurt from keeping them open. Though she was sure that Erik was also tired, he showed no signs of it, pacing near the window.

"Come on, Darling." Madame Giry said, reaching for her daughter. "Come home with me and get some rest. We will return in the morning."

"Mother, I don't want to leave—"

"You are of no use to the Vicomte in your state. Sleep first." Christine smiled, knowing it was no use. Madame Giry would not be defied.

"Maman, I want to go home." Gustave said, half asleep himself. Christine tenderly put her arm around him and nodded.

"We can go back to the hotel—"

"Nonsense." Erik said, looking over from the window. "You'll stay in my apartments."

"But Erik, it's perfectly safe now." Christine protested.

"After tonight, humor me." He said, rubbing his temple. "I have an extra bedroom with a brand new bath. Please."

"I think we should go with Monsieur Destler." Gustave agreed, crossing his arms and looking so like his older counterpart, it was frightening for a moment. They stood exactly the same way and wore the same serious expression. If she weren't so thoroughly worn out, she would have burst into a fit of giggles.

"Fine." She agreed. Gustave was asleep the moment the carriage moved away from the curb, resting against her side. Erik was silent, staring ahead into the darkness. Christine wanted very much to say something to break the silence, but she could think of nothing to say so she sat and combed her fingers through her son's thick black hair. He was getting so big that she couldn't imagine holding him this way in a year. Soon his voice would deepen, he would begin shaving…she couldn't bear the thought of it. Her son…grown up. Deep down, she knew that she and Raoul had not conceived because of her. After her miscarriage, something had gone terribly wrong inside her and she had been unable to bear any more children. She had never blamed Raoul for her own failings. All this time, she'd thought he blamed her when he'd really blamed himself.

To Christine's surprise, Erik carried Gustave into the apartments and put him into the guest bedroom promptly. Christine quickly removed the boy's shoes and settled him under the covers. She would join him in a moment, but knew that there was unfinished business to be attended to.

She found him in his drawing room, sitting silhouetted against the dim lanterns from the street below. Before she could knock his voice came.

"Come in." He said, his voice husky with lethargy. At a loss for words, Christine looked at the desk he was sitting at and saw a drawing of herself, no doubt saved somehow from years before. She remembered the first time she had gone down into his lair and seen those sketches. That awful doll…

"It's been a long day." She finally said, leaning against his desk.

"Indeed." He agreed, reaching for a bottle of brandy. "Would you like a glass?"

"Please." Christine nodded, reaching greedily for it as he slid it across the desk. They quickly clicked glasses and each took a long drink, savoring the sweet flavor of the liquor. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples and took a long breath.

"Will life ever be normal for us, Christine?" Erik asked tiredly, reclining in his chair. She looked up, seeing him for the first time once more. The man she remembered had been so different, though not any more or less appealing. She still felt her pulse race every time he spoke. She still held her breath when they met eyes.

Every time.

"I doubt it." She said dryly, chuckling. Her eyes caught on his sketch once more. He noticed and smirked, pushing it toward her.

"Remember her?" He said softly, almost wistfully. "I have pined for this girl so long and so hard…"

"Here I am." Christine muttered, taking another drawn out sip of her brandy.

"No." Erik replied, looking across the desk at her. "This is not you." He shook his head, searching for words. Christine shifted nervously in her seat.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, suppressing a yawn.

"Christine…I loved you for so long, that I created my own version of you. I put you so high on a pedestal, that you became an unreachable prize." He smiled, setting the parchment aside. "I lived in my fantasy of you for so long that I forgot how wonderful the real version of you is." He told her earnestly. At her skeptical look, he grinned. "No, really. You have a wicked, dry sense of humor and a sharp tongue. You're stronger than most women your age. Not only are you lovely to see, but I like to talk to you." A wry twist of his lips, make her jolt awake. "You're flawed too. You have a temper to wake the dead and you're impatient. I love that."

"I never was perfect." Christine pointed out, to which he nodded.

"I know." He said, "But you were mine."

"You left me." She reminded him, finishing off her glass of brandy, reaching for the bottle and pouring herself another. The warm liquid was making her feel as if she were floating through the air on a cloud. Her head was slightly dizzy, but she was content.

"Yes." He agreed, looking the slightest bit regretful. "I do remember that. I still haven't decided if it was better for you and for the boy that way though. I don't think I would have been a very good father."

"Erik, things change when you have a child. You'll see…_you_ change."

"I've made so many mistakes in my life, Christine." Erik mused, shaking his head and staring at the amber liquid he had yet to finish drinking.

"Yes." She returned. "But isn't that why were put on this earth and given free will? To learn from our mistakes?"

"I was never sure why I was put on this earth." He admitted, meeting her eyes squarely. "Until I heard a little girl crying in a chapel somewhere far away a hundred years ago."

"It wasn't so long ago." Christine said, unable to hold back a small smile.

"Seventeen years. Nearly a lifetime." He said pointedly. "Well, nearly _your _lifetime" His voice was mocking, but his eyes were kind. "I was twenty-eight."

"I've never known how old you are…or your middle name…or anything about your past, really…" Christine said, realizing. "Yet, I feel like I know everything about you."

"I am forty-five." He told her seriously. "I was born near Rouen and my mother's name was Madeleine. My father died before I was born. Charles. When I was nine years old, my mother sold me to a gypsy named Javert so that she and her lover could buy opium and morphine. I was featured in his freak show for three years."

Christine could only stare at him in horror. How could a mother sell her only child for opium? The thought of selling Gustave to a band of gypsies made Christine very nearly wretch with nausea.

"That must have been awful for you." She whispered. Erik gave her a rueful smile.

"It wasn't so bad at first, but Javert had an…infatuation, I suppose you could call it, with young boys…now, I won't go into detail, but I will say that along with the other younger boys in the freak show, we all had to bear the brunt of his…weight." Christine watched him swallow, but his voice did not waver as he went on. "When I was twelve we were doing a show near the Opera Populaire, and a group of young ballerinas came to see. I remember seeing one of them staring at me with a look of such pity in her eyes, that I forgot for a moment to perform my piece. This, of course, infuriated Javert and he came at me, but I heard the girl cry out, 'No!' Something snapped inside me and I tore the rope from his hands and I strangled him to death." His eyes went dark. "I'm not sorry."

"He deserved to die…that's despicable." Christine spat in disgust. Erik gave her a look of obvious appreciation.

"In the chaos, Javert had left the gate open, so I tore it open and ran out into the street, looking for an escape. Someone took my hand and when I looked over, it was the ballerina. 'Come with me,' she said, 'I know a place you can hide.' So I went. She brought me back to the opera house and opened a chapel window for me to climb in. Then she took my hand and brought me into the dressing room with the mirror. 'My name is Antoinette,' she said—"

"Madame Giry was the girl?" Christine asked incredulously. Erik nodded.

"She showed me how to open the mirror and told me how to get down to the lake. She promised to bring me food later." Erik grinned at the memory. "You set a twelve year old boy loose in an opera house and he's going to wreak havoc. I stayed there for five years, building traps and secret doors to keep myself safe from others. When I was seventeen, I met a man in the market who was wearing a turban. He saw me steal fruit and perform a magic trick that I had learned with the gypsies. He invited me to join him when he returned to Persia. I had no other options and at seventeen, I was extremely curious, so I went. He brought me to the shah, who made me his mother's personal magician. I learned all sorts of escape tricks and new ways to kill." Erik sighed.

"In Persia, they kill for pleasure. It was my job to please the Khanum, the mother. They named me the Angel of Death. Fitting, no?" Christine managed a weak smile. "One of the downfalls of pleasing a Khanum who loves death is refusing her bed. I was sentenced to die, but the Daroga, police chief, Nadir saved me and smuggled me into a carriage that was heading back west. Somehow, I ended up back in France at the opera. I reunited with Antoinette, who was now a mother and wife. Four years later, I met you."

"I really did know nothing about you." Christine said, overwhelmed by his story.

"I have never told anyone the entire story. Not even, Antoinette." He took a final sip of his drink and set the empty glass down calmly. "So tell me Christine, is it my face…or is it my past that scares you more?" His voice was quiet, even.

"Neither." Christine replied, entirely drained emotionally by his tale. "I have not been afraid of your face for a long time and your past is what it is. Past. It's not a life I would have wished on my own son, but there is no use dwelling on it now. Some people are forced to endure a harder life than others. You had the misfortune to be one of those people, Erik. And for that, I am sorry."

"I'm not." He surprised her by saying, "If I'd had an easy life, I would be no better than those ignorant men I hate. The ones who live as if they deserve everything in the world. I used to think Raoul was one of them. Until tonight."

"I knew he wasn't." Christine said, swallowing hard at the thought of Raoul lying in a hospital bed, unknowing if he would be able to walk.

"That's the good thing about you, Christine. You always see the good in people. Maybe there is hope for me after all." The fact that he was talking about them being together made Christine blush like a sixteen year old.

"You still want me after all this mess I've made of our lives?" Christine said with a small laugh.

"My life has always been a mess." He said with a shrug. "I'd rather share it with you. I tried so long to protect you from myself, but I'm tired of fighting it."

"You said you _loved_ me." Christine said, remembering his earlier words. "Loved?" The smile left his face. He took a long breath.

"Love." He corrected. "I never stopped. Christine, I—" He stopped himself, looking for the first time since they'd returned, undone. "I've had other women since I came to America. I won't lie to you. I haven't been chaste…but it was always wrong because I always compared it to those three nights we stayed together when you came and found me."

"Erik…" Christine murmured, rising and stepping around the desk to stand between his legs. She was pleasantly astonished when his hands moved up to rest on her hips. "Please stop trying to fight me and tell me the truth, because I can't spare another second away from you. If you leave me again, I don't know what I'll do I—" His finger covered her mouth to hush her. She realized with a start that she was crying.

"Stop." He soothed, using the voice he'd used so many times with her, when she'd known him as the Angel of Music. He stood up, drawing her into the warmth of his chest. She allowed him to cradle her head against the broad, hard plane of his chest and spilled her tears into the soft fabric of his shirt. "I'm not leaving. I'm exhausted Christine. I am so tired of running…I don't care anymore if it's selfish of me to want you…because I'm keeping you this time. I waited ten years for you…I would have waited longer."

"Oh Erik," She sobbed, clutching his shirt in her small fists. "I do love you. I always have…"

"I've waited so long to hear you say that." Erik sighed into her hair. Christine could feel the irregular heartbeat beneath the heat of his skin. "You don't know how much I love you, but I'm planning to spend the rest of my life showing you…" He briefly pulled back from her and opened the top drawer of his desk, retrieving a small silk bag tied with a ribbon. Carefully, he pulled it open and drew out something sparkling and beautiful. Christine recognized it instantly as the ring she had given back to him the night that they had performed _Don Juan Triumphant._

Tenderly, he took her left hand and removed her gold wedding ring, placing it carefully on the desk. Christine watched him closely with wet eyes as he pressed a reverent kiss to her naked ring finger and slowly slid the engagement ring to the base of her finger. She was surprised at how much relief she felt as that ring was set into place. It was supposed to be there. When she looked at him again, she saw him staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer to his unspoken question.

She nodded before she spoke when she breathed the word, "Yes…" before flinging herself into his waiting arms and letting him kiss her as she'd longed to do for so long.

* * *

**Almost there...sorry for the wait...I've been interviewing for a new job. **


	17. Love Endures

Erik realized with a touch of amusement that even though Christine was kissing him, her eyelids were closed in a way that betrayed how tired she was.

"Come on then," He said, pulling away and putting his arm around her shoulder. "I don't care to make you choose between me and sleep. I fear I won't like the answer." A small, tired chuckle left her as she yawned. Seeing the way she swayed a bit, he stooped and pulled her up into his arms. If she had been more awake, he knew she would have protested, but her head lolled against his shoulder and she kept her eyes closed.

Erik decided to let her have his bed and give her a chance to spread out, while deciding that he would sleep on the floor or perhaps on a sofa. He set her down carefully on the bed, easily removing her shoes. It reminded him of the first time they had met face to face when she'd fainted. It didn't even seem like the same lifetime. Once he covered her, he started away from the bed when her voice came through the darkness.

"Where are you going?" Her voice was deep with fatigue. He stood in the doorway, folding his arms over his chest.

"I was giving you the bed." He informed her. She sat up, obviously offended.

"You're leaving me?"

"Not leaving," He laughed. "Just giving you some space. I don't want to pressure you into things you aren't ready for Christine."

"Erik," Christine replied, "Why don't you let me worry about what I'm ready for and come into the bed? There is no reason we can't share it."

"But Gustave is just in the other room." Erik said, thinking of the sleeping boy in the room across the hall. Not to mention, the thought of making love to Christine tonight put him into a panic. It had been ten years since they been together. What if she found herself disappointed? When they were together the first time, both were inexperienced sexually. Now that time had passed and each knew more, would it be different? Worse?

"Just sleep." Christine said, breaking the silence with her calm voice. "I'm in no condition to do…that." The thought of the soft mattress made him weak with longing for sleep. He hesitated for a moment, but his body got the best of him and he gave in, unbuttoning his wrinkled shirt and tossing it aside. Christine's eyes were already closed when he got into the bed.

When Erik's eyes opened again some time later, it was still dark. Christine had somehow ended up mashed against his side with her leg hitched over his. Her breathing was deep and even and in sleep, she looked very young again. He adjusted his position so that his arm was around her and she could lay her head on his shoulder more comfortably. It was not as awkward as he thought it might be.

Christine rose before he did and he woke to find the bed empty beside him. The slightest trill of panic rang through him as he wondered if it had all been a dream and he would be alone in the Aerie dreaming about inviting Christine to America again. She was nearby, however, when he sat up. She was sitting near the window, looking out at the busy street below.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you." She said, smiling and coming to perch on the side of the bed. "Gustave was up and I wanted to make sure he ate breakfast.

"How is he?" Erik asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Christine shrugged.

"He seemed fine. He wants to go visit Raoul today." Christine looked down at her hands. "I think he may feel a little responsible for what happened."

"It wasn't his fault, but if I were in his position, I suppose I would blame myself too. It's a Destler curse, this self hatred thing." Erik replied wryly, hopping off of the bed and moving to his closet to retrieve a clean suit.

"I'll just…" Christine trailed off as he began to change into his day clothes. Erik raised an eyebrow impatiently.

"Do try to control yourself around me." He teased. She shook her head, regaining composure and left the room in a flourish.

Gustave was talking quickly to Christine in an excited voice. Apparently it had snowed through the night and he was delighted to look out at all of the rooftops covered in the glistening white fluff.

"And Mother, do you think I could play in it maybe this winter? Do you think I could make new friends? Perhaps at a school?" Christine was smiling patiently, buttoning his coat and calmly answering his rapid questions.

"Of course you can go outside and play this winter, darling. I certainly would love for you to make new friends and we will look into a school for you."

"There's a very good school here in the city." Erik said, making his presence known. Gustave stared up at him with big hopeful eyes. "It's a private academy with only a few students in each class. It's one of the first of its kind here." He explained looking at Christine's worried expression. "And, you wouldn't have to live there. You would come home at night."

"Really?" Gustave asked excitedly. "And I could have friends?"

"As many as you'd like." Erik assured him. "Not only that, but they will teach you other things such as fencing and horseback riding and other sports."

"Would you like to live here in New York, Gustave?" Christine asked her son cautiously. Gustave seemed to ponder this for a moment before he nodded.

"Mother, I've never said anything because I didn't want to hurt yours or Papa's feelings, but I don't like having lessons all by myself. France is so boring…there's so much to _do_ here!"

"I didn't know you were unhappy at home." Christine mused looking puzzled.

"I didn't know I was unhappy either." Gustave said quietly. "But then we came here and I was so much happier."

"But Gustave, there's one tiny problem…Papa will be returning to France once he recovers."

"I did think of that…" Gustave replied, looking a bit sad. "But we can still visit him, right?" He looked at Erik for some guidance. Erik nodded.

"Of course." He said, unsure of what else to say. He did not want to frighten the child by informing him that he and his mother would be married as soon as her divorce from the Vicomte was final. Even though he was the boy's father, he'd only ever known Raoul de Chagny as his parent. It would be a long adjustment period for all three of them. Erik wasn't even sure he would be a good parent, but he was going to find out.

* * *

Christine was anxious to get to the hospital and see Raoul for the first time since he'd been shot, but she was relieved that he was doing better and had had no complications from the surgery. Meg was smiling from ear to ear when they arrived and hugged Christine tightly.

"He moved his feet this morning. He is not paralyzed." She told her excitedly. Christine practically melted into Meg's arms, sobbing with relief.

"Oh thank goodness." She whispered, burying her face in the frilly shoulder of Meg's day dress.

"He's been asking for you." Meg whispered to her, nodding toward the open doorway. Christine nodded and left her, hesitating in the doorway. Raoul was sitting up, his light hair combed neatly. The color had come back into his face, though he looked very tired still and weak. He smiled at the sight of her.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander…" He teased. She managed a small laugh and rushed toward the bed, flinging her arms around him carefully.

"How are you?" She asked, crying for the second time in minutes.

"Better." He replied honestly. "And relieved that I can move my own feet. Where is Gustave?"

"He's just outside the door with Meg and…" She stopped herself, her eye catching on the diamond sparkling on her left hand. She looked up at Raoul with red cheeks. He had noticed too apparently because he was looking at it too.

"I remember this." He murmured, taking her hand and inspecting the lovely ring. "I stood outside the jewelry store for nearly an hour before working up the nerve to go in and buy it."

"Oh Raoul…" Christine said, feeling her heart clench in guilt. "I wish things could have been so different…"

"I don't." He said, squeezing her hand and placing it gently in her lap. Taking a long breath he met her eyes. She remembered with a start how remarkably blue green they were. "Sweetheart, I don't know how to tell you this, because I'm scared to death myself, but I'm going to marry Meg."

"You are?" Christine asked breathlessly.

"When everything is settled with us, of course. But I feel a bit odd marrying Meg without your blessing and I understand if you don't want to—"

"Of course you have my blessing. You needn't have asked." She assured him. "And then there's my matter…"

"Has he asked for your hand?" Raoul guessed, looking once again at the ring with half a smile on his handsome face. Christine blushed furiously.

"Not in so many words, but he implied…and I suppose I didn't really give him time to…but I said yes." She explained quickly. "With your blessing of course?"

"Of course."

"And then, Gustave…" She added cautiously. His face turned pale and he looked down.

"What ever you think is best." He replied in a soft, wistful voice.

"Well…he wants to go to school. There is a new academy here in New York…he could still live at home and make friends, and—"

"Then of course, he should stay with you. After all…he is yours." This pained Raoul, she could tell.

"He's ours." Christine corrected. "You raised him too, Raoul. I have a proposition." At his expectant and somewhat skeptical look, she went on, "I will keep him all through the school year here in America. I know well you can't stay here forever. But every summer, we will come back to France and stay until he has to come back to school." Raoul's eyes widened.

"You would do that for me?"

"Yes." Christine said seriously. "And I would do that for him. Because I love you both so very much." She shook her head, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I made a mistake when I was a very young girl. It was probably the best mistake I've ever made, but I've hurt too many people because of it. I'm going to make amends, I swear it."

"Papa?" Gustave appeared in the doorway, holding Meg's hand. She smiled at Christine knowingly.

"Gustave." Raoul said in a choked voice. Christine had to look away when Gustave threw himself into Raoul's arms. A sharp hiss of pain left Raoul as he squeezed the boy, but he did not let go of him.

"I'm so sorry, Papa!" Gustave cried, burying his face into Raoul's shoulder. Only a few of his words became coherent. "…my fault…shouldn't have run…love you…" Raoul comforted the boy as best he could in his position.

"Nothing is your fault, Gustave. We all love you very much and nothing will ever change that."

"Why don't you and Erik go spend some time together and leave Gustave with me tonight?" Meg whispered to Christine. "I know you must be dying to be alone with him."

"I waited ten years," Christine replied with a laugh, "I suppose I can wait just a little longer."

"I insist. He can stay with Mother and I tonight and we can spoil him like we always do." Christine grinned, despite herself.

"I do have a new nightgown that I bought in a boutique two days ago. It's a bit risqué for me, but I had to have it for some reason."

"Darling, you have no idea." Meg replied with a wink. "Wait until you come to know the city better. There are things that would shock you."

By the time Erik and Christine arrived back at his apartment, hers and Gustave's things had already been retrieved from the hotel suite and brought up. The maids had unpacked accordingly, putting Gustave in the guest room and Christine in Erik's room.

"They're very thorough." Christine mused, looking at all of her gowns and things neatly put in the closet.

"I pay them very well." Erik assured her.

"I think I'd like a quick bath before we eat." Christine said, looking toward the huge bathroom with the marble tub. Erik nodded, instructing a nearby maid to get the bath ready and in the same sentence, ordering a butler to have dinner sent into the bedroom for Christine.

"I must check in with Dawson, so I'll do that while you are bathing." Erik said.

"Won't you join me for dinner?" Christine asked, a bit put out. Erik patted her shoulder.

"Not to worry…I won't be gone long. Besides, he has to get home to his own wife and children. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a slave driver." Christine sighed, touching his arm.

"I know…" Rising onto her toes, she kissed his cheek affectionately. "Hurry home." A warm feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she said the word, "home".

When he had shut the front door behind him, she went into the bedroom and opened drawers until she found what she was looking for. It was an ivory satin negligee with a low cut back that tied in the front. A dangerously cut slit was sliced into the side of the garment, which would expose most of her leg when she moved the right way. What had driven her to buy the gown, she had no idea, but she was glad she had now.

She let herself fall into the comfort of the warm, flowery scented bath, letting the warm water soothe her aching muscles. Vaguely, she was aware of dinner being brought into the bedroom because she could smell the aroma of delicious, cooked food. When her fingers started to prune, she got out of the bath and dried herself quickly, pulling on the nightgown and blushing when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Never in her entire ten years of marriage had she worn something so daring, so…wonton. She wondered what Erik would do when he saw her dressed this way.

Christine looked both ways to assure that Erik had not yet returned before she walked over to the bed and lay down on her side so that he would see her when he walked in. It was a happy coincidence that the side with the slit was the side that was showing. A few moments later, she could hear Erik's voice outside the bedroom door and her skin began to tingle with excitement and anxiety all at once. She stiffened as the doorknob turned and the door began to open, but she remained in the same position.

Erik seemed to not notice her at first, as he reached for his cravat, but something must have told him to look up because he did and froze upon closing and locking the door behind him. Her heart began to race furiously and she could feel his eyes move slowly from her face down to her toes.

* * *

**A few more, but not before some fun stuff...**


	18. Those Ravishing Refrains

**Okay, now for the fun dirty stuff. Warning. This chapter is not for the prude and/or faint hearted. If you don't like sex scenes, I suggest you skip it. lol. Also, we are nearing the end of this saga. :)**

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* * *

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"When…?" Erik's wavering voice came finally after a long moment of silence. "Where…what…?" Christine sat up shyly, looking up at him through her eyelashes. The faint floral smell of her wafted around him, making him dizzy.

"I don't know why I bought it really…" She told him, blushing. "But it wasn't like anything I'd ever owned, so I had to have it. I've never worn it."

"Gustave…?" Erik inquired, remembering their ten year old son was wandering around the apartments this very moment.

"Staying with Meg and Madame Giry tonight." She reminded him, rising up off the bed. Erik's eyes fell to the dangerously high slit of her garment, revealing the pale, bare leg beneath it. He was vaguely aware of her putting her hands on his chest and let his own hands fall to her waist, holding her there.

Ten years.

How things had changed since the last time they'd spent a night together. They'd both been inexperienced, naïve. Since then, he'd had other women. In America, the women were far less concerned with a mask than they had been in Paris. Any man with money was worthy in their eyes. Heiresses, wives, widows…he'd had one of each at least. None had ever compared to her. As inexperience and young as she had been then, he would never love another woman as much as he loved her.

Taking her face into his hands, he bent down and tenderly placed his lips on hers. It was a gentle kiss, not the least bit probing. She strained to get closer to him, wanting more, but he held back, teasing her.

"Erik…" She protested, pouting. He swallowed a grin and stooped to pull her up into his arms.

"Shh…I want to do this right. There's no rush." He told her, kissing her nose. Her eyes were wide with hope as she put her arm around his shoulders to support herself. Setting her easily on the bed, he removed his coat and vest quickly before sitting beside her. "I want to be honest with you."

"Yes?" She said, lacing her fingers with his.

"I've been with others since…since you." He admitted, feeling a tangling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not proud of it, but I always looked for a bit of you in each woman. One would have your eyes, another would have your hair…your skin…your smile…"

"Erik…it's all right." She said, furrowing her eyebrows. "I would never have—"

"It doesn't matter." He said, stopping her by placing his finger against the velvet of her lips. "I love you, Christine. Never another woman."

"I love you, Erik. I never stopped." She moved over and climbed into his lap. "Now please…I've waited long enough for you." Her hands pressed against his shoulders and urged him to lay down. Christine kissed him quickly on the lips and turned her attention to unbuttoning his shirt. He let his hand run over the soft material of her nightgown. He felt her gasp his name against the skin of his chest. Nothing had ever sounded so erotic to him. Memories of their first time together came back. Her shy mewls of pleasure, the way her entire body seemed to blush when he looked at her naked. She seemed unashamed now, all of the unsure innocence of her youth gone and replaced with something better.

Erik urged her gentle to her back, soothing her writhing with his hands and lips. He slid his fingertips beneath the silky material of her shoulder straps and pulled it downward to reveal the pale porcelain of her skin. He did the same with the other until only half of her breasts were covered by filmy black material. He could see her nipples were hardened in arousal already and was unable to hold back a smirk as he brushed his fingertip over one of them. Her breasts were bigger than they had been then, heavier and beautifully shaped.

In one swoop, Erik swept the garment down and off her body completely, leaving her naked and practically panting. Her hands rested on the flat plane of her stomach. Carefully, he moved them to her sides and bent to kiss the hollow of her stomach. She arched up off the bed, tangling her fingers into his hair as he moved lower down her body, feeling the heat already from between her legs. Erik ran his hand over the glossy mound of dark curls and probed with the tip of his finger until he found the opening. She was slick as he'd expected, and a thrill rushed through him as she moaned deeply. He watched with aching lust as the tip of her tongue darted out of her mouth and wet her lips. Erik felt himself harden to the point of agony as he settled her legs over his shoulders and flicked his tongue out to taste her.

Now that he knew how to please her properly, he could not hold back a smile as her continued mewls of pleasure became louder. Her hands had fallen from his hair and were gripping the sheets as she tensed, climbing her peak. He did not let her reach it, however and stopped, rising long enough to undress himself. She opened her eyes in hazy confusion, wrought with angst over being left almost at the top.

"Shhh…" He soothed, pressing his lips to hers and tenderly entering her mouth with his tongue so that she could taste herself on him. This pleased her as he began to manipulate her swollen sex with his hand. Christine's hands held his face greedily to hers as she bucked against his nimble fingers, but still he did not let her come.

"Erik!" She gasped in frustration when he dragged his hands away from her. He gave her a devilish grin as he lay down on his back and in the same motion, pulled her hips so that she was astride him. With little effort, he lifted her slightly and began the slow, tantalizing slide inside her. She tried to push herself down on him, but he wasn't done teasing yet. Erik had to bite his lip to keep from coming at once, but years of practice had made him ready for this moment. "Please…" She sobbed, arching backward so that her breasts were thrust forward, the hardened pink nubs sticking out attractively.

"So impatient, my love…" Erik rasped huskily, smiling up at her. "Good things come to those who wait." Her response was a primal moan. "Is this what you want?" He asked, giving her the tiniest bit more. She whimpered, panting. He watched with heavy lidded eyes as her body glistened in the dim candlelight with sweat. Her head fell back in pure erotic torture and he knew he had her. With one sharp thrust, he pulled down on her hips and drove into her mercilessly. She screamed in gratification, placing her hands on the smooth planes of his chest.

Then, to his surprise, just as he felt himself reaching the crest, she grinned evilly at him and pulled herself off. Before he could protest, her intent became clear. Now, she was in control and moved down his body, gripping him in her small hand. His eyes nearly rolled back as her tongue came out and licked the length of him. Her eyes were black with lust. Not wanting to lose the upper hand, he lifted her back upward by the arms and turned her over on her stomach, reaching beneath her and lifting her hips so that she was on her knees.

"Erik, what are you—" She cut off, when he swiftly entered her from behind and leaned over her, turning her face to kiss him over her shoulder. Her moans were unstopping as he pressed into her again and again. He could feel it coming quickly this time and he knew she was close too, so he reached around and began to play with her sensitive nub as he growled in ecstasy. She cried out in one more shuddering refrain of his name and he felt her tense all around him, dragging his own climax out at the same time.

They fell together, at the same time. He withdrew and pulled her into the warmth of his body, sinking into the comfort of the soft pillows on his bed. The last thing he did before slipping into oblivion was kiss her gently on the lips.

* * *

Christine woke a few hours later when the candles were starting to wear down. She stretched, feeling her body ache pleasantly. Erik was sound asleep, still holding her as tightly as he had when he'd first lie down. A wash of love for him drifted over him as she kissed his cheek and carefully removed herself from his grip. The relief she had felt when she saw he hadn't left her was crippling. Deep down, she still feared him abandoning her again and was sure she could not survive it again.

Erik must have felt her get up because his eyes opened almost immediately after she had pulled on her dressing gown.

"Where are you going?" He asked worriedly, sitting up. She smiled reassuringly, perching on the edge of the bed.

"I was going to use the toilet, love." She told him, smoothing the dark hair from his forehead. Flashing her left hand at him, the ring he'd placed back on her finger was still intact. "Then, I thought I would come back and we could order something to eat. Gustave won't be home until tomorrow morning." A slow grin curved her lips. "Or," She went on, trailing a finger over his chest. "I could cook. I haven't been able to cook in nearly forever!"

"What would you make?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Well…" She replied, contemplatively. "I've always been partial to a hearty stew. I know it's not very elegant, but it's my favorite."

"Mmm." He nodded in agreement. "We could make it together."

Within fifteen minutes, they were both wearing their robes and standing in the empty kitchen looking for ingredients. Christine was thankful that most of the servants had gone to bed already. It was strange, this easy, playful co-existing with Erik. She was surprised at how natural it felt when his hand grazed the small of her back and leaned over her shoulder while she cut vegetables. More than once, she was distracted by his lips just below her ear.

"Erik, I can't cut while you do that." She said, feeling the tip of his tongue and then the cool blowing of his breath. She had barely gotten the potatoes into the pot when his hand slipped inside the opening of her robe, cupping one of her breasts. "Erik stop…" She protested, but her voice had been reduced to a breathy murmur.

"Finish the stew, Christine." He told her wickedly. She swallowed and continued, with trembling hands, filling the pot with vegetables and browned meat. Her head became heavy and leaned back against his chest while he continued kneading her full breasts. How she had finished it, she would never know. As soon as her final ingredient was cooking, her robe was peeled open, baring her breasts to the vacant kitchen. Erik let one of his hands fall to the slit opening below where she had it tied and he began to tease her aching flesh once again. It seemed that this night was destined to be one of repeated pleasure. If this was indicative of what their married life would be like, she had better make sure that Gustave had plenty of friends to visit. Erik turned her to face him and untied the sash of her dressing gown, leaving her naked body entirely visible to him. He bent to take one of her hardened nipples into his waiting mouth and she sucked in a breath at the sensation it brought.

It became obvious that this would be a much quicker, more urgent round as Erik lifted her off the ground and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He moved with ease, bracing her back against the cool wall of the kitchen and opened his own robe with one hand. Her breath caught as he entered her and, using the support of the wall, drove up into her in heady thrusts. She heard a cry leave her mouth with every rise and fall.

In all of her years of marriage to Raoul, even when things had been happy between them, she had never experienced this sort of primal need. It had always been very gentle and polite. With Erik, everything was about feeling. Combined with her love for him, this was otherworldly. It made her feel like anything was possible. It was strange how Erik could be so sexual and unrelenting and then after, be so gentle and tender.

Her climax came just as violently as the first. Her legs fell slack around his waist and she could feel the remaining spasms of him still inside her. She didn't worry about conceiving this time, she knew it was impossible now and though that still ached, it was less of a burden now that she and Erik were together and had Gustave with them.

As they gradually came back to their senses and the mouthwatering smell of stew filled the kitchen, Christine had a yearning to kiss her son's sweet face. She wouldn't go get him though. He was just as excited about staying with Madame Giry and Meg as they were. She found herself praying fervently that Raoul and Meg could have children together. After all, there was no reason why Raoul wouldn't have had children. It was her miscarriage that left her infertile.

"It's a wonder your servants haven't been out of bed to check on us with all of our noise." Christine told Erik, blushing. He grinned impishly, refastening her dressing gown.

"They know better." He told her in a low voice. "I spoke with Dawson today about your divorce. He's been in contact with Raoul's lawyer and I've been told that the Vicomte is paying a rather large sum to have the marriage disintegrated with haste."

"What do you mean?" She asked, wide eyed. Erik smiled, kissing her hand.

"Well, it's obvious; he wants to marry Marguerite Giry. But that means that if all goes well, we can be married by February." He explained, sending a shiver of sheer joy through Christine's body. She flung her arms around him and nestled into his comfortable embrace. Swallowing the lump in her throat she looked up at him.

"Marrying me means that you will have no more children." She whispered. His eyebrow raised and he gave her a level look.

"Sweetheart, I never dreamed I'd have _one_ child. I doubt I could handle two. And it's probably better for all of us that Gustave was a boy because I would probably be unbearable to live with as a girl's father. I can barely manage to stay calm when men look at _you_." Erik's voice was soothing. Christine melted into his arms and finally let happiness completely overtake her.


	19. Christmas Bells Are Ringing

"Can I open my eyes now, Maman?" Gustave asked. Christine smiled to herself, holding her hands over her son's eyes as she guided him into the parlor.

"Not yet." She told him gently, nodding to Erik to make sure everything was set. He affirmed this and they grinned conspiratorially at each other. "Now!" She said, removing her hands. Gustave gasped in surprise at the huge Christmas tree surrounded by mountains of gifts.

"Is this all for me?" Gustave asked, racing forward to touch one of the presents.

"Go and see." Erik urged him, gesturing to them. Gustave bent to read one of the tags.

"To Gustave from Santa Claus!" He cried excitedly, ripping the beautiful paper without care. Christine remembered being a child on Christmas. The gift had actually been found by Erik. Over the past few weeks, Erik had discovered Gustave's passion for tinkering around with things and fixing them. He'd found a perfectly sized tool set for him in a department store and had purchased them immediately. Of course, Erik did nothing on a small scale and had them sent immediately to have Gustave's name engraved on them.

The following half hour consisted of Gustave's surprised cries of delight as he opened each of his gifts from "Santa." A new bicycle, a large toy train, games and books. He finished the last one and looked up at Christine and Erik, beaming.

"This has been the best Christmas ever!" He exclaimed. "I never saw so many gifts in my life!"

"There's one more." Erik said. "From your mother and I." Christine looked over at him, surprised. She hadn't known about this one. Erik turned and walked out of the room for a moment. Christine met Gustave's green eyes expectantly, her curiosity getting the better of her. When Erik came back into the room, he was cradling something in his arms. It was moving! Christine's eyes widened as he smirked at her.

Crouching, Erik carefully set it in front of Gustave. Christine realized, with a wave of adoration, it was a puppy. A very young, sweet eyed, brown puppy. She had floppy ears and amber eyes and her chocolate colored fur was fuzzy still. Her little paws were too big for her tiny legs and her tail wagged ferociously, a small sharp whip, slashing the air.

"I haven't named her." Erik explained, sitting cross legged across from Gustave and running his hand over the pup's small head. Playfully, she nipped at his hand and fell clumsily down. Christine giggled, feeling a spark of love for the animal. "I thought I'd leave that task to you." Gustave reached for her, carefully pulling her into his arms and kissing her head. She licked his nose excitedly.

"Fleck." He said proudly, pointing to a tiny white spot on her stomach. "She has a fleck of white on her."

"Fleck?" Erik asked, touching the puppy's nose. She yipped excitedly, sounding very tiny. It was too adorable. It made Christine long for a real baby. She missed the coos and softness of a baby. She knew she was fortunate, because she had been lucky enough to have one child, but when she'd still been young enough to believe the world was perfect, she'd imagined having a large family. Of course, she too could feel little Fleck pulling her into the spell that she had cast over Erik and Gustave already. Raoul, Meg and Madame Giry would be arriving shortly as well. They would be heading back to France before the new year, so this would essentially be the last time they would all see each other until summer.

Christine worried about Raoul and Gustave, but thus far, they had remained as close as ever. It was almost better because Raoul smiled often. He didn't drink anymore. His eyes had regained the light that she had once adored when they were young. The reality remained, however, that Raoul was still a viscount and still had duties to attend to at home. No doubt the Comtesse would be thrilled when her only son informed her that not only was he divorcing his current wife, but he was marrying yet another performer in her place. Christine would have paid to see her mother-in-law's reaction. Not to mention the reaction of Raoul's sisters. Of course, since Raoul was signing his rights back over to Erik, he would lose the luxury of having an heir, but he had written in his will, that in the event he and Meg remained childless, his fortune would be turned over to Gustave.

There was also the matter of changing Gustave's last name to Destler, but that too would take time like everything else. Gustave was surprisingly complacent with the entire thing. Though he still referred to Erik by his first name, the two had formed an easy friendship already. She wasn't sure if he would ever call Erik 'Papa', but it didn't matter. She and Erik agreed that his happiness was their main priority.

For someone who claimed that he would be a terrible father, Erik was very patient and willing to teach Gustave. She'd always known he was a good teacher. Some days, Erik brought the boy to work with him so that he could see how the theater was run. Other times, Christine took him to visit Meg and Raoul. He had already made a friend with one of Dawson's sons, Emmett, who was nine.

The nights were much different. Once Gustave was in bed, Erik and Christine spent every second together. The passion hadn't quelled yet. There were nights that they bathed together in the spectacular marble bathtub in the grand bathroom Erik had. She had never been such a passionate person, but she never tired of Erik. It was amazing to her that he could get up for work in the morning with the way they had been going lately. February couldn't come soon enough.

Erik had insisted on buying she and Gustave a new wardrobe with the American fashions and had taken them both to a shop where they'd been fitted for dozens of new things. He'd even purchased more of the lacy under things for Christine and brand new corsets and silk stockings with satin ribbons. Before Gustave had woken up this morning, she and Erik had exchanged gifts.

"Merry Christmas, love." He'd said, kissing her on the lips. She grinned into his warmth and ran her hands over his back. "I have something for you." He purred. She gave him his gift first. A set of diamond cuff links and a brand new razor. He pulled out a flat velvet box. She opened it to reveal a ravishing jeweled necklace with glistening rubies. Erik leaned close to her ear and held the necklace in place without clasping it.

"Tonight, I want to see this on you…with nothing else." A small moan had left her as Gustave's excited footsteps had interrupted the moment.

Christine grinned to herself at the thought of Christmas night with Erik in bed. Perhaps after a long bath soaking in a vanilla scented oil. Vanilla was Erik's favorite smell. He seemed to sense her thoughts because he gave her a wicked look from his seated position on the floor beside their son. After the new year, Gustave would start school. Erik had decided it was time to find a better home for the three of them since a two bedroom apartment suite was not really suited for a family.

The three quickly got dressed and ready for their guests to arrive. Gustave immediately returned to playing with Fleck on the carpeted floor. She chased him relentlessly, yapping excitedly. Of course, by the time the doorbell rang, she had worn herself out and was fast asleep in a pile of discarded wrapping paper. Christine found her delightful. Raoul walked in on crutches with Meg beside him, lovingly helping him along.

"I'm just glad I can get out of that wheelchair for a while. It was driving me insane!" He was telling her. She smiled and helped him take his jacket off. Though he still seemed to struggle with his back, he was walking and that was encouraging to Christine. Less that three weeks before, he had been nearly killed and now, he was going to be fine.

Meg adored him. Her eyes were full of happiness as she walked beside him. Christine couldn't hold back her smile at the sight of the two of them together. They looked like one of those couples only depicted in fairytales. Her buttery blonde hair was perfectly coiffed at the nape of her neck and her rosy cheeks were a perfect contrast to the creamy skin on her face. She wore a purple day dress, which only served to make her eyes seem bluer. Raoul's light brown hair was parted and neatly combed into handsome waves. The color had come back into his handsome face and his eyes, though a bit greener, were still a lovely shade of blue as well. The lines that had once made him seem older than his thirty-one years were gone, and he seemed again very young. The smile never left his face.

Gustave threw himself into Raoul's waiting arms and gushed excitedly about his morning and about Fleck. At the sound of her name, the puppy opened her eyes briefly and looked up before lying back onto her side and releasing a long sigh. Everyone laughed. Meg allowed Gustave to show the dog to her and ran her tiny hand over the puppy's baby soft fur.

Madame Giry looked exquisite as well, as any aristocratic lady should. It was obvious Meg had taken her shopping and dressed her accordingly. Meg had recently revealed that she suspected her mother had a gentleman suitor, though Madame Giry would never admit it. It did make sense though. Madame Giry's graying red hair was pinned at the top of her head in such a way that Christine had never seen. She had never worn it any other way other than braided and coiled or pulled back into a net. The dress she wore was a deep, sage green, setting off the copper colors in her hair beautifully. It was easy to see where Meg had gotten her beauty.

Christine sighed in happiness, watching her strange, loving family interact with each other. Erik shook Raoul's hand, something she never would have thought she would see. Meg kissed Erik's cheek. Erik kissed Madame Giry's cheek. They were all smiling. Raoul looked across the room and grinned at Christine, making her heart melt with joy for him. She blew a kiss at him and he mouthed, _Merry Christmas._

_

* * *

_

"What a perfect day." Meg said, shutting the door to her empty flat behind Raoul. Everything had been packed since Meg had agreed to come back to Paris with him. He had written to his parents about the events that had transpired in America and wished he could have seen their reaction. First, that he'd been shot. Second, that he was divorcing Christine and renouncing his rights to Gustave's parentage, thus, leaving him heirless, and third, that he would be marrying Meg with all haste. Of course, at first sight, Meg would appear to be the very epitome of perfect Vicomtesse. Beautiful, smart, social…she liked all of the things that she was supposed to. She had a way with people that made them love her.

Meg set about lighting a few lamps and making some tea while Raoul settled himself onto the sofa. Though his back hurt, he didn't seem to mind it when he was with her. They hadn't attempted to sleep together again, and he was determined to wait until they were officially married to take that step again. It had been wrong of him to begin with and she deserved something better. A proper wedding night.

A proper proposal.

Raoul grinned to himself as he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the ring he had purchased just the previous afternoon while out shopping for her Christmas gift, which had been a new fur coat. It was a beautiful gold ring with a simple diamond set in it. He knew Meg had much less extravagant tastes than Christine and anything bigger would have been too much.

"Darling?" He called out to her.

"Coming, love." She sang back, returning into the room with the tea. He gripped the ring in the palm of his hand and took the tea with his other. He could barely keep from smiling and giving himself away.

"Were you satisfied with your day?" He asked as she settled against his side on the sofa. Meg nodded, sipping her tea.

"I'm going to miss them dearly when we go." She admitted. "Especially Gustave."

"Me too." Raoul sighed sadly, thinking of the beautiful boy he'd raised from birth. Seeing how happy he was here with Christine and with Erik, though, somehow eased the pain. And they would all be spending their summers with each other in France. "Meg, I've been thinking."

"About what?" She asked, looking up into his eyes. He set his tea aside and touched her cheek. Her eyes were so lovely.

"I haven't been fair to you. You've been so selfless with me and I haven't thought about what you need."

"What are you talking about sweetheart?" Meg asked.

"I never proposed properly to you." He said. "It's not fair. It should have been so special…I would have covered the room in flowers and had candles everywhere. I would have surprised you with dinner and told you how beautiful you are. I would have said that the blue of your eyes is my favorite color. I would have told you that I can't live without you…and then…" Very carefully, he slid off of the sofa onto his knee on the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in his still raw back.

"Raoul…" She said, worried about him. He smiled reassuringly at her and took her hand in his.

"I would have given you a ring," He opened his hand, revealing the diamond ring. She took in a deep breath. "I would have asked if you would do me the honor of being my bride. I love you, Marguerite Giry. Would you marry me?"

"I would have said yes." Meg whispered, watching in wide eyed fascination as he carefully slide the tiny ring on her slim finger.

"We're going to have a real wedding Meg." He promised her, sitting beside her again. "I won't deny you that."

"People are going to talk." She reminded him. He chuckled.

"They're going to talk anyway, considering I left the country with a wife and son and came back with an entirely different wife and no son. Let them talk." Raoul took her face into his hands and kissed her.


	20. Bliss

**March**

A knock at the mahogany door to Raoul's study, made him look up from paperwork.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, your mail has arrived." His butler informed him, handing him a stack of envelopes. The man bowed before leaving his master to his task. Leafing through the mail, he dismissed most of it as bills, though one such letter did catch his eye as it was postmarked from New York. The elegant, feminine handwriting of his former wife and childhood friend made him smile. Swiftly, he opened it and unfolded the letter.

_My dearest Raoul, _

_I received notification today of the finalization of our marriage and I wanted to tell you, though I know we are better off this way, it brought a tear to my eye. I cherish you and our friendship more than I can possibly convey. I miss your lovely face every day and my heart aches to see you and Meg soon. Gustave continues to thrive here in New York and recently was selected to be on a sports team. It's called baseball and is similar to la soule. Erik assures me it is not too dangerous, but I can't help but worry. He's growing up so fast, Raoul, I can hardly bear it. _

_I also received the invitation to your wedding, though I must respectfully decline. I would not wish the scandal of your first wife attending the wedding, though I am dearly touched by the gesture. We will be coming on the first of June to visit, so I'm sure we can all catch up. I hope Meg is feeling better by that time, she expressed in her last letter that she was feeling somewhat under the weather. _

_Most of all, I wish you two the most happiness any couple can achieve and I want you to know how much being your wife meant to me. _

_All my love, _

_Christine Daaè_

Raoul realized with a note of amusement that he too, felt his eyes well up with tears at Christine's kind words. Tomorrow, he would marry for the second time and he could not help but feel a shred of hope as he pondered the thought. Meg would officially move into his Paris mansion after the wedding. It would all be taken care of while they were on the honeymoon he was surprising her with on the Mediterranean Sea. Checking his inner pocket, he fingered the two train tickets and grinned in self satisfaction. It was one of his favorite things, to present Meg with surprises and watch the blush come over her face. How was it possible that he had once overlooked her?

His mother of course, had balked at the prospect of not only having a divorce in the family, but being forced to welcome yet another performer into her family. She had been even less kind to Meg as she had been to Christine, but Meg took a sort of amusement to it. The Comtesse's sharp glances and stuffy demeanor didn't seem to bother her at all as it had Christine.

Though, Raoul had to admit, that Christine had been a much younger woman that Meg when she had come into the Chagny family and perhaps maturity was helpful when dealing with a hateful old bat. It seemed to pay off, however, and the Comtesse had huffily present Meg with a tiara to wear on her wedding day, a family heirloom that had been passed down from the Comte's mother to her before their wedding.

"Consider yourself lucky." His sister Aline had confided to Meg, "For my wedding, the only thing she gave to me was a new pair of stockings along with the warning that if I did anything to disgrace my new husband and embarrass her, that I would be disowned. Edward thinks she's a delightful old crow and is determined to kill her with kindness." Raoul grinned at his older sister.

Now, the day before Meg was to become his wife, he was filled with a strong sense of hope. Meg had been acting very nervous recently, and Raoul could only attribute it to the fact that they were getting married before almost all of Paris and the fact that his mother was an overbearing ogre of an old woman. He hadn't seen her in nearly three days and it was killing him. Madame Giry had insisted that she rest before the wedding and keep to herself. Raoul quite agreed, but couldn't help being impatient. The house was quiet with only him residing in it. He longed to hear her laughter and the sounds of children bounding up and down the stairs. If only he could give them to her.

Meg continuously assured him that if they were meant to have children, they would, but Raoul knew it wasn't so simple. His biggest fear was repeating his marriage mistakes with Christine and having Meg resent him for being infertile, though he now knew Christine did not blame him and was comforted by it. Raoul also knew he must produce a new heir now that Gustave had officially become a Destler or else the title would revert to his father's nephew Eustace, who was a twit. Raoul also knew that titles were becoming less important in a fast moving industrial world and though he wanted very much a child to call their own, he ultimately knew it wouldn't matter either way.

* * *

Meg stared in quiet awe at the ring on her finger as Raoul guided her confidently out of the grand church. She was a married woman, a Vicomtesse to be exact and she felt as if she were floating through someone else's dream. It had all seemed like a story she had read long ago and had forgotten, but it was real. Meg Giry, former ballet corps dancer was now, Marguerite, Vicomtesse de Chagny. It wasn't the title she'd wanted. It was the man. Since she had laid eyes on Raoul de Chagny almost twelve years before, she had imagined this day and even after she'd watched as he married the closest thing she had to a sister, she'd still longed to know what the feel of his lips on hers was. She had wished so fervently for Raoul to stare at her like a man in love. Now that her dream had come true, the reality far outshined her fantasy.

Raoul helped her into their carriage which had been adorned with dozens of lovely flowers and ribbons to tell people that they were newlywed. Once inside the privacy of the carriage, Raoul pulled her half onto his lap and sighed in contentment.

"Finally." He said, with a small chuckle. Meg could hardly contain the pounding of her heart as he ran his hand down the length of her spine to soothe her. She swallowed hard as the velvet warmth of his lips touched her neck.

"Raoul…" She managed to say, feeling her face heat with a fiery blush. "I have to tell you something." The sudden way he sobered at the distress in her face made his eyes go wide with worry.

"Meg?" He asked, setting her beside him and looking down into her face. Her eyes fluttered to keep the tears at bay. "What is it, sweetheart?" He cradled her face in his hands as she struggled to find the words.

"I haven't bled since December." She admitted, unable to meet his eyes for fear of his reaction.

"What do you mean, darling?" He smoothed a buttery lock out of her face. His eyes were warm with concern for her.

"What I mean to say is…Raoul, I think I'm going to have a baby…" When he only stared at her with his mouth slightly open, she added, "_Your_ baby. It must have happened that first time in New York when you…when we were together." She was now blushing furiously. Raoul stared at her in mild confusion.

"But Christine and I tried to have a baby for five years and nothing…" He searched for words, his eyes filling with moisture.

"The doctor as much as confirmed it." Meg said quietly, feeling the chaotic fluttering in her gut get worse as her nerves seemed to lose control. She was on the verge of a breakdown. "I've been feeling a bit queasy now and then, and my breasts hurt something awful and I'm crying so easily all the time." The tears began to fall at this admission. "I'm either pregnant or crazy…"

"Meg…" Raoul crooned to her, pulling her into him so that she could bury her face into the warmth of his shoulder. "How long have you suspected this?"

"Since January." She sobbed, her voice muffled by his coat.

"Why didn't you tell me instead of being worried by yourself?" He asked, holding the back of her head as if she were a child and moving with her. Meg could not imagine how badly his back was hurting with how they were leaning, so she moved him to sit back against the cushion.

"I was so afraid to make a mistake…I didn't want you to be ashamed of the scandal, especially since your divorce wasn't finished yet." Raoul let out a surprised laugh and pulled her closer.

"Oh, my love…you don't think I shy away from scandal, do you?" He teased, making her laugh despite herself.

"You're really not angry?" She asked, meeting his eyes. He stared at her in disbelief.

"Why on Earth would I be angry?" He asked. "Since Gustave was born, I've wanted nothing more than a child…" He stopped himself, looking ashamed.

"Of your own…" Meg finished for him, suddenly understanding. "And you thought it impossible until now." Raoul's face crumpled slightly with emotion, but he managed a small smile. The fear completely flooded from Meg, leaving her with an overwhelming compassion for her husband. "Won't people notice when our baby is born six months after our wedding?" Meg asked, unable to hold back a hopeful smile. Raoul composed himself and laughed out loud.

"Darling, as you come to know the society I was born into, you will realize that people are terribly unobservant. The Comte de Brisbois married his young wife in June of last year and their son was born in October. She had been his children's governess."

"Oh my…" Meg said, thinking of her baby who would come into the world in mid-September. She didn't _feel_ as if she was carrying a child, but somehow she knew it was there all the same. She sensed his or her presence. Raoul bent down to kiss her on the lips as they rolled to a slow halt in front of his father's estate where they would be enjoying their wedding breakfast.

"Thank you, Meg." He whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

"For what?" She asked, twining her fingers with his.

"For being my wife. For giving me a second chance to get things right…for this…" His hand slipped to the flat plane of her middle, making her blush again. "Does your mother know?" He asked, becoming serious again. Meg smiled.

"No…I haven't said anything to anyone! I was terrified of your reaction…she is more intimidating that you are!" They shared a private laugh, thinking of her mother who was formidable but, at heart, she was soft and kind. She would be thrilled to hear of her future grandchild. No doubt Raoul's parents would be interested to hear about the possibility of a new heir as well and hopefully, they would be happy to see a new child as well.

"Good," Raoul said stepping down from the carriage more easily than he hand in months. Holding his hand out to her, he set her to her feet and kissed her again. "Then I want you to enjoy your wedding day as a bride and tomorrow, we'll be expectant parents…agreed?"

"Agreed." Meg nodded, putting her arms around him. "I really do love you, Raoul." He stared at her for a long moment before smiling again.

"You really do, don't you?" He said, sounding surprised at the ease of it all. "And I love you, Marguerite, Vicomtesse de Chagny."

* * *

**April**

"Pardon Mrs. Destler, but this arrived for you today." Trudy McDowell, Christine's new housekeeper informed her as she finished unpacking her last suitcase. Christine, Erik and Gustave had finally moved into a home in Manhattan, closer to the theater. In the Irish woman's pale hand was a cream colored envelope, beautiful and pristine. She recognized Raoul's handwriting immediately and smiled. By now, he and Meg had married just as she and Erik had eloped a few weeks before.

Checking the clock, Christine saw that she had an hour until Gustave got home from baseball practice and Erik wouldn't be home just yet, so she settled onto the new bed with Raoul and Meg's letter, lighting a candle and leaning against the giant pillows that Erik insisted she needed.

_Dearest Christine, _

_I am so happy to inform you that Meg is now Marguerite, Vicomtesse de Chagny. Meg has settled happily into life here. Madame Giry maintains her own residence in a new apartment near the Opera Populaire. Monsieur Firmin recently succumbed to an illness, and she informed us that Andrè has decided to sell his share. It will be strange to see another person manage the old opera. _

_I hesitate to tell you this next piece of news and yet I must because I want you to hear it from us first. Meg is with child, and will deliver sometime in September. On the one hand I am delirious with joy since I feared I could never give Meg a child, but here we are. On the other hand, I am scared to hurt you…I know how badly you wanted another baby and I need you to know I am not writing this to gloat or rub salt on your wounds. I care for you very much, Christine and I need your friendship even more than I needed your love when we were married. _

_Meg hopes you, Gustave and yes, dare I say it, even Erik Destler, can extend your summer stay through the birth of the baby. You are her sister after all and she longs for you to be with her when our baby comes. I look forward to seeing you all in June…especially Gustave. Please tell him how proud I am of him that he made the baseball team and also, let him know how much I still love him. I'll never think of him as anything other than my own flesh and blood and I would never treat him any different. When our baby is born, I hope that Gustave will consider him or her his sibling. _

_Most of all, Christine, I pray that you are happy. I know how long you waited for him and I truly wish you two nothing but happiness. If you love each other half as much as Meg and I love each other, I think you'll make it. _

_All of my love, _

_Raoul de Chagny_

"You're crying." Erik's smooth voice came from the doorway, his body casting a shadow over the bed where she had curled up with Raoul's letter.

"You're early." She said, folding up the parchment and setting it aside.

"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting on the bed and taking her hand. She smiled at him.

"Tears of happiness, darling." She assured him, handing over the letter so he could skim it.

"Andrè is selling the opera?" He voiced in surprise, meeting Christine's eyes. There was a slight glimmer in his silvery green irises that she recognized before…she saw it every time he looked at her.

Want.

"Why? Are you interested?" She teased, scooting to sit beside him and drape her legs over his.

"Very." He said with no teasing in his voice.

"You should buy it…it's always belonged to you anyway." Christine encouraged him, kissing his cheek. "But what about the Aerie? Gustave just settled in here."

"Oh owning and managing are two different animals, love." He told her. "I want to stay in New York. I love it here…but the Opera Populaire could flourish with my ownership and say, Antoinette's managing?"

"She'd never agree to it!" Christine laughed.

"Oh she would." Erik said, sounding positively sinister. "That woman wants nothing more than to wield power over the weak."

"Erik!" Christine cried in amused surprise. He smirked at her, pushing her to lay on her back. Just as he began to crawl over her body, they heard Gustave's breathless voice enter the apartments.

"Maman! Erik!" He called. Gustave had progressed from Monsieur Destler to Erik, but had still a way to go before he called Erik, "Papa." Christine knew Erik wasn't quite ready for that either, but their relationship had blossomed. The two were so alike that they had no trouble bonding over the silliest of all things, a spider…or an interesting crack in the wood floor.

"In here!" Christine called as Erik climbed off of her just in time. She suppressed a giggle as Gustave bounded into their bedroom. He was dirty, sweaty and Christine had never seen him so happy.

"Would it be all right if I ate supper with my friend Gregory from the baseball team? His mother invited me and I don't want to be rude."

"I think that would be fine." Erik said agreeably, looking at Christine for approval. "Can he go?" She almost laughed out loud at his uncertainty.

"Erik, you're allowed to give him permission to do things." She reminded him. "Be home before dark, Gustave. And do not walk alone. Make sure that his parents accompany you."

"Thanks, _Mom_!" He cried, using the American slang for mother. It sounded strange on his lips, but Christine smiled at him and watched him leave with his friend. As soon as the front door shut, a pair of large hands wrapped around her waist and dragged her willingly back into the bedroom. She was barely able to shut the door behind her before Erik flung her back onto the bed. The muffled sound of her laughter floated out into the hall, but she knew the servants would pay it no mind.


	21. Philippe

**September 19, 1893**

"I can't handle all of this yelling." Raoul grumbled, pacing in the privacy of his den. "I swear I'm going to have a bloody heart attack before the day is through."

"Relax, Vicomte…have a drink." Erik replied, watching the man come undone before his eyes. He glanced over at Gustave who was watching Raoul with a keen eye.

"I don't touch the stuff anymore…it was a disgusting habit." The Vicomte protested, watching enviously as Erik took a long lip of brandy, savoring the sweet liquor. He quickly poured another glass, sliding it across the coffee table at the younger man.

"One glass won't kill you. Just enough to settle your nerves." He insisted.

"May I have a glass?" Gustave asked curiously. Erik gave him a wary look.

"No you may not." He replied, winking at the boy.

"It's been six hours!" Raoul cried, throwing his arm up in frustration before holding his glass out to Erik for a refill. Erik chuckled to himself, knowing the Vicomte was in no danger of falling into his old habits with alcohol as he refilled the man's glass.

"From what I understand, these things take time. Sit Chagny…you're as nervous as a bird in a cage." At his words, Raoul sunk into a leather armchair and stared at the amber liquid in his glass.

"Mom said that when I was born, it took half a day to have me!" Gustave replied, sounding more American than ever. He'd gradually been picking up the American terms and leaving the French behind. Mostly, he called Christine "Mom," which sounded ugly to Erik, but every so often he would slip back into French and call her "Maman." He still had yet to refer to Erik as anything but his first name, but the two continued to grow closer. It didn't bother Erik in the least when Gustave called Raoul, Papa. It seemed stupid for him to call the man who had been there since his birth, "Raoul." Raoul was a hideous name anyway.

"She was…of course she said nothing that morning when I left for work." Raoul replied, remembering. Erik felt a stab of ugly jealousy knowing that Raoul had been present for the birth of _his_ son. Of course, it had been his own fault. If he hadn't been an idiot, he could have been the one holding Christine's hand while she had given birth to Gustave.

He turned his attention to the beautiful boy who had grown almost half a foot since December. His face was becoming less childlike by the day, the baby fat leaving his rosy cheeks. Soon, he would start growing hair on his face. His voice would become deeper. He would no longer be a child. Though it didn't bother him quite as much as it bothered Christine, it was still bittersweet to see him grow up after such a brief time with him.

As Raoul made to say something else, the noise from upstairs came to an abrupt stop and the Vicomte's face went completely pale. Erik was surprised that he too felt himself hold his breath. A long shrill wail immediately followed the silent moment and Gustave met his eyes excitedly.

"The baby!" He cried, standing up and staring at the closed door as if he were waiting for someone to open it. Raoul sat still as a stone statue in the armchair, clutching the brandy loosely in his hand. Erik watched with a touch of amusement as the glass began to tilt out of the man's hand. Reaching across the coffee table, he snatched it out of the Vicomte's hand and placed it on the table.

"Chagny!" He hissed, snapping his fingers in front of the other man's face. His light eyes showed slight recognition as he stared back at Erik. The infant continued to screech above them and Erik could faintly hear the muffled sounds of Christine and Antoinette talking to Meg excitedly. Despite himself, he felt a wave of relief that the newborn had been born and seemed to have a healthy pair of lungs. Gustave turned back to them excitedly.

"I wonder if it's a boy or girl! I hope it's a boy!" He cried excitedly, running to Raoul's side and sitting on the arm of his chair. "Don't worry Papa," He said, patting Raoul's shoulder. "Everything is going to be all right." Raoul seemed to come out of his catatonic trance and looked up at Gustave, smiling for the first time all afternoon.

"I believe you." He assured the boy. The door opened and Erik sighed happily at the sight of Christine's lavender skirt as she entered the room. Gustave moved to her immediately, taking her hand. She kissed the crown of his dark head lovingly before looking at Raoul, who was sitting rigidly upright. Her face fell into a warm smile.

"You have a beautiful, healthy son." She informed him. "A big, sturdy baby with blond hair." She added, wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes with her thumb. Raoul began to weep into his hands, weak with happiness and relief. He looked up at Christine with tearful eyes.

"Can I see her?" He asked in a hoarse voice. She nodded, giving him a watery smile. Raoul rose and began to leave, stopping only to kiss Christine on the cheek and thank her. He left with all haste, leaving Erik alone with his wife and son. Erik guided Christine to sit on the sofa beside him. She leaned into him serenely and held his hand, her other arm around their boy.

"Maman," Gustave said suddenly, "May I go see the baby?" Christine nodded.

"Knock on the door first and wait until Gran lets you in the room…" She reminded him, watching as he shut the door behind him.

"How is Meg?" Erik asked, kissing Christine's temple. Christine took a deep breath.

"Tired…but so happy. He's a beautiful baby. Bigger than Gustave was…" She admitted. Erik felt another pang of regret at missing the birth of his only child almost eleven years before.

"I wish I had been there." Erik mused sadly. Christine looked at him in bemusement.

"While Meg was delivering?" She asked, making him laugh.

"No…" He replied, touching her small nose with his index finger. "While _you_were, love. With

Gustave. You have no idea how sorry I am for leaving you."

"Yes I do, Erik." Christine teased. "You tell me every day."

"We should probably go make sure that Gustave hasn't caused any trouble." Erik said, starting to get up, but her hand pulled him to sit back down.

"Wait." She told him, pausing for a moment to ponder her words. "I have to tell you something…" His heart dropped and he felt his breath catch in his throat as all of the possibilities ran through his mind. Christine was ill…she was unhappy…she was leaving him…she wanted Raoul back…Even though Erik knew better now, there were times he was still unable to accept that she truly was his for better or worse as they had vowed in late March.

"Stop thinking black thoughts." Christine said, laughing again and touching his cheek. "I just want to remind you of your wish that you had been there for Gustave's birth."

"What do you mean?" He asked, frowning while she ran the back of her fingers over the late afternoon stubble of his jaw.

"I have been so sure that I could never bear children since Raoul and I never conceived after my miscarriage." She replied, looking down into her lap.

"Christine, you know that it doesn't matter to me whether you can have children or not." He assured her, leaning in to kiss her, which she avoided.

"It matters to me." Christine replied seriously, meeting his eyes. "And I can't help wondering if you're slightly relieved because you don't really want another child."

"Christine, that's ridiculous…of course I would want another child with you, if that were in the cards for us, but sweetheart I don't want to see you go through the pain…if we can't." He said, pulling her closer. "If you want to try…"

"Erik, I think I'm pregnant." Christine said quietly, breaking through with an almost thoughtful tone. "I can't be sure yet, but I'm almost a month late, I want to eat nothing but bananas all the time and my breasts are killing me. Oh," She added, speaking in a rapid fire pace, "And I can smell the food they took out for dinner in the kitchen…it hasn't been cooked yet." Erik could only stare at her slightly agape. She bit her bottom lip becomingly and gave him a desperate look. "Say something, Erik."

"I…" He trailed off and shook his head, feeling something bubbling in the pit of his stomach and rising up until he was trembling all over. He covered his face with his hand. He felt her hand on his arm.

"Oh Erik," She sighed, "I'm sorry to spring this on you without warning…I didn't mean to upset you, love." He looked up at her and watched her dark eyes widen as she realized that he was laughing, not crying. "You're not upset?"

"Quite the contrary, my love." He chuckled, pulling her onto his lap. "I'm ecstatic…but it's just funny to me that since we married, I've been waiting for the ball to drop and ruin our happiness. I wake up repeatedly in the night to make sure that you're still there and when I've assured myself that you're really there, I get up and check in on Gustave to ensure that I didn't imagine him either."

"That's how I'm feeling with this pregnancy…" Christine agreed knowingly. "I don't want to curse myself and speak too soon but I just _feel_ different."

"Well…" Erik said, standing and setting Christine on her feet. "Tomorrow, we'll find out for sure, but today is for Meg and Raoul. I'm interested to see what the Vicomte produced with little Giry."

"Don't call her little Giry to her face." Christine laughed, the color coming into her face. Placing her hands gently on each side of his face, she stood on her toes and kissed him softly. "I love you, Erik."

"I know." He said, the corners of his lips turning up. "I love you as well, Christine Daaè."

"Destler." She corrected.

"My apologies, Mrs. Destler." He winked at her. "Now come, let's go meet the future Vicomte."

* * *

Raoul cautiously opened the door to the bedroom he shared with his wife. She was lying back in the pillow with her long, fair hair lying in two golden plaits over her shoulders. She was pale, but smiling with dark circles under her blue eyes.

"Raoul…" She replied, reaching a hand toward him. He looked over at Madame Giry, where she was standing with the doctor and his assistant. The three of them were huddled around a small tub of water. Raoul avoided the temptation to go over and look at his son, opting instead to sit beside Meg and kiss her lips.

There was a quick knock on the door and Madame Giry swiftly opened it and ushered Gustave into the room to sit beside her. She spoke calmly and happily to him, obviously telling him about the baby boy.

"He's big, Raoul…the doctor said it's a good thing he came today. Another week and they would have had to cut me open!" Meg informed him, yawning. "He looks like you." She added, taking his hand.

"I love you, Meg…" Raoul said, finding his voice. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and held her hand.

"Yes, yes…" She said, leaning into his warmth. "You do mention that a lot."

"Monsieur le Vicomte, would you like to meet your heir?" The doctor asked amiably, coming toward them with the large bundle in his arms.

"My son." Raoul corrected. He would never refer to the baby as his "heir". That was something his parents would have done. The doctor gingerly set the baby into his mother's arms. Gustave followed Madame Giry to the bed so he too could look a the little boy who would be like a brother to him.

"Congratulations, Vicomte." The doctor agreed, nodding. Raoul peered down at the baby in Meg's arms and remembered the first time he'd seen Gustave. He'd known right away who Gustave belonged to, but had pushed it down into the back of his mind for ten years. There was no doubt as he stared down at his newborn son. The baby had the same blond hair that he had once possessed as a child, and the beautiful flaxen sheen of Meg's hair as well. His eyes were blue as all infants' eyes are, but Raoul could see himself in the baby's face, even though he was still so new.

"He needs a name, Raoul." Meg said, holding him up so that Gustave could see him better. Raoul knew what he wanted to call the baby already, it seemed right. After everything he had lost in his life, things finally seemed right.

"Could we name him Philippe?" Raoul asked gently. "For my brother…" Meg looked down at the baby, carefully caressing his downy golden head.

"I like it. Philippe Louis Claude François de Chagny." She said, beaming up at him. "Your mother will love it." She added, looking up at Madame Giry. "François for Papa." She said happily.

Raoul looked across the bed at Gustave, who was staring down at the baby with an awestruck expression. He smiled, feeling warmth fill his chest. He hadn't lost Gustave after all. It had all come down to a small matter of finding more room in his heart to love. Raoul was no longer bitter about the past decade, but had come to accept that the past was no longer part of his life.

The door opened again and Christine appeared with her husband, flushed and happy looking. She was beaming from ear to ear and Raoul was a bit surprised to see that Erik wasn't far off from that either. He couldn't remember a time before when he had ever seen the infamous Phantom smile. Now, he seemed to smile continuously. It made him somehow less intimidating, though he still had his moments.

"Raoul here, hold him." Meg said, gingerly handing the baby over. Raoul remembered with astonishing ease how to hold a baby and enjoyed the feel of his sleeping son lying in his arms. The baby seemed already familiar with his surroundings and was blowing tiny bubbles in his sleep. Perhaps it hadn't been Christine's nor his fault that they hadn't had other children…the world had a way of setting things to rights without human interference.

He thought of his brother Philippe, who had been gone for so many years. He liked to think that Philippe would have been proud to have a nephew named for him. His older brother had led a troubled final chapter of his life, but maybe he could find peace in the afterlife through his namesake.

* * *

Erik checked his watch and realized how late it was when he saw that Christine had fallen asleep already. Carefully, he pulled the covers over her relaxed body, but let his hand ghost over her perfectly flat stomach. She seemed to smile in her sleep. He walked around the bed and began to take off his shoes as the door opened. Gustave peeked in, looking a bit confused.

"Can I come in?" He asked. Erik nodded, waving him in and sat him down by the fire. The boy sat cross legged on the rug, staring into the whipping flames.

"What's the matter?" He asked, Gustave, concerned. Gustave shrugged.

"I know Papa isn't my real father, but I am afraid he doesn't love me as much as he did before…especially with Philippe now." He admitted, looking apologetic. Erik felt a small tug at his heart, both sympathetic and jealous all at once. Gustave and Raoul had a bond that had been formed over ten years. He'd only had Gustave for just under ten months.

"That's not true." He said, unsure of what to tell the boy. "You are very special to him. No matter who comes along, he will always feel the same way about you." It was somewhat painful for Erik to say it, but he could see that his son was confused. He looked very like Christine with his eyebrows furrowed that way.

"When we get home…to America…would you take me to Coney Island? I never did get to go…" Gustave said, changing the subject and pleasantly surprising Erik.

"Of course we can…we'll go as soon as we get back. It's the end of the season, but we can go more in the spring, before we come back to France." He promised, watching Gustave's eyes light up. It was unnerving to see his own eyes in someone else's face, but at the same time, it was a good thing. He loved that Gustave looked like him because Gustave was everything that Erik had never been able to be as a child. Beautiful, sweet, happy…his mother loved him more than anything in the world…just as she would love the newest member of the family.

To Erik's surprise, Gustave got up off the floor and flew into his arms, hugging him tightly. Dazed, Erik's arms came around the child and held him back, closing his eyes and letting the warmth wash over him. In a sense, just as the Vicomte had held his own son for the first time just hours before, it was almost as if Erik were getting that experience now. He'd hugged Gustave many times since they had come back into his life, but never had the boy clung to him as he was now. It brought an onset of unexpected tears into his eyes.

"Why don't you go climb into bed, Son?" Erik said, kissing the top of his head. "I'm sure Fleck will be wondering where you are." Gustave nodded and walked toward the door, guided by his father. "Do you need me to come tuck you in?" Erik offered. Gustave shook his head.

"No, I think I can manage." He replied. "Thanks, Dad." Erik was taken aback again.

"Dad?" He repeated, attempting to hold back a grin. Gustave shrugged.

"That's what you are, aren't you?" Gustave said. "You're my Dad." Erik nodded, patting his son's shoulder and feeling more buoyant than he had since his wedding day.

"Yes. I'm your Dad." Erik agreed, finally coming to terms with the fact that he was Gustave's parent just as Christine was and that he loved the boy more than life itself. He would have sacrificed everything he had to make Gustave happy and to keep him safe. The love he had for Gustave was different than his love for his wife, but no less intense. "And I love you very much." He added, feeling sentimental. Gustave smiled happily at him.

"Love you too Dad…night." Erik watched in contentment as Gustave padded to his old room.

"Night." He said as the door closed. Erik took a deep breath and returned to his sleeping wife with a smile on his face.

* * *

**One more to come…the Epilogue. This chapter needs editing badly. I just don't have the strength right now…lol. Thanks for sticking with me. I tried. **


	22. Penny

**May 6, 1894**

Christine was extremely frustrated with her second child. He or she was procrastinating horribly and it was conflicting with her carefully laid travel plans. The plan had been to leave for France when school ended for Gustave the first week of June. Unfortunately, the baby, who had been due in April was now very late arriving and had restricting Christine's abilities to pack and get everything ready for their trip.

With Gustave, her time had come early, so it had been the slightest bit easier for her. She hadn't been so uncomfortably, so…grotesque looking. Her feet were so swollen that she couldn't even put on her shoes and her back hurt, confining her to a chair or her bed most of the time. The doctor had recommended walking to speed up the child's process, but it clearly was not ready to cooperate with her.

She loathed looking in the mirror and seeing the bloated mess that she had become as of late. She had not looked this way when she had been pregnant with Gustave. Of course, she had been seventeen then, but she wasn't exactly _old_ now. She would be twenty-nine in a little over one month, which meant that next year she would be – and she could hardly believe it – _thirty._

The hours when Erik and Gustave weren't home were the worst. She felt like a burden of the worst kind to her poor house staff, which consisted of two maids, a housekeeper, a butler and a cook. She had formed an easy friendship with the three women, who mercifully sat with her and talked about their children or siblings. She ached for Meg's company. Meg had written that Philippe was growing extremely fast and had a full head of bright blonde hair. He had just begun to crawl. She wrote of how badly Raoul missed Gustave, which made Christine all the more eager to birth her second child and get them all over the Atlantic with haste.

Erik was almost unbearable to live with these past couple of months of her pregnancy. He was overprotective, bossy and completely infuriating. How she loved him. She had encouraged him to talk to the baby through her belly and he had looked at her as if she'd gone completely mad. However, one night she had come out of a particularly deep sleep and caught him murmuring softly to the impressive bump. Suppressing a smirk, she'd pretended to be asleep and listened to him drone on to the child about the history of Gregorian chanting or some such nonsense. He'd probably bored the poor baby to sleep, but it was still sweet nonetheless.

He had grown more affectionate and was learning to relax with great progress. Early on in the pregnancy, before she had started to show much, she'd found him asleep at his desk with his vest unbutton, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his dark hair a mess. It had been really odd the first year of their marriage, seeing the human side of Erik Destler. It was very jarring, especially that first week they'd been together, eating dinner and looking across the dinner table at a man she'd once been so afraid to love. Even stranger, she couldn't quite get over how much Gustave and Erik looked alike. When they sat next to each other, it was particularly apparent.

Gustave was very enthusiastic about the baby, whom he'd already deemed was a boy, though Christine didn't care what it was as long as it decided to be born soon. She wasn't honestly sure as she had been when she had carried Gustave.

Her discomfort reached its peak when she finally had to use the toilet so bad that it took her two maids, Annie and Sarah to help her to the restroom. As soon as she stood up, she felt a violent gush beneath her chemise. Her entire body relaxed in relief. The baby was coming. Very calmly, she smiled at the housekeeper, Eleanor.

"Ellie, can you please send for my doctor? My stubborn child has finally decided to come." The woman nodded with a grin and turned to bark an order at the butler.

Erik was notified immediately as well, and practically broke down the door to the bedroom when he arrived with Dawson to find Christine sitting up and speaking calmly with her two maids. She had to roll her eyes, fighting laughter.

"Is the baby here?" He asked, looking around in utter confusion. Christine chuckled.

"No, darling…my water only broke less than half an hour ago. I haven't even had more than a small pain yet." She patted his hand as he came closer. "It could take hours, you can go back to work." She assured him, reaching up to kiss him. His eyes were wide with shock.

"Are you mad, Christine? You think I would leave you right now?" He asked, looking at Dawson, who was smirking openly.

"I've been through this six times, Destler. Your wife is right. Why don't you have a glass of Scotch with me?"

"Why is everybody so damned calm?" Erik asked incredulously.

"Because, love," Christine explained gently, "Having children is a generally boring experience." She giggled. "Have a drink. You'll need it before the hard part starts."

"Unbelievable." He muttered, letting Dawson usher him out of the room. Christine looked at her maids and Eleanor and laughed.

"Men are so helpless…we're the ones birthing the children and they are the ones who are in need of medical assistance. My husband fainted straight out when my first was born. Utterly ridiculous." She said, straightening out Christine's sheets.

"I think it's hilarious, myself." Christine laughed. "He is a bit high maintenance, but I can't say he isn't entertain – _oh!_" And there came the first very sharp pang, taking her breath away. Finally, progress.

Forty-five minutes later the doctor arrived, and another hour and a half after that, Christine was finally ready to push her baby out. Gustave had been sent to his friend's home for dinner so that he was not here to deal with it. Erik, on the other hand, was a mess. He paced angrily on the border of the room, while Christine patiently suffered through each pain.

"How can you be so bloody calm, Christine?" Erik demanded, staring at her through bloodshot eyes. "I can't stand this."

"Dawson!" Christine cried out, sweating and praying the man was nearby. He poked his head in the doorway. "Get him out of here." She instructed.

"Not a chance!" Erik protested, fighting Dawson off as Christine let out a long yowl of agony. "I missed Gustave's birth…I won't miss this one."

"Then _calm_ down." She growled at him, staring at him with fire in her dark eyes.

"It's time to push, Mrs. Destler." The doctor informed her. She sighed in relief, gathering her strength and bore down.

"Never again." Erik kept muttering under his breath.

After ten pushes, the baby burst forward into the doctor's waiting hands. Checking swiftly, the man nodded and held it up.

"Your daughter, Mrs. Destler." Christine stared at the very sturdy looking little girl in the doctor's hands and grinned at her thick thatch of dark, matted curls.

"Lovely." Christine said, reaching out and forgetting the pain. She was heavier than Gustave had been and more vocal. She was already screaming in protest of being forced into this world.

"Now stop." Christine soothed, accepting a clean blanket from Eleanor. Sneaking a look at Erik, he was staring down at the baby as if he'd been cracked over the head with a glass or a frying pan.

"Oh my God." He murmured, eyes wide. "A girl…I'm never going to sleep again." Christine couldn't help it; she hit him in the arm and laughed.

"Don't be stupid." She told him, handing the baby to Eleanor, who set about cleaning her off. "Now what can we call her?" Erik just stared at her blankly.

"What do you mean?"

"She needs a name, Erik." Christine replied. "Maybe you would like to name her for your mother?" He scoffed at this.

"I would never saddle a child with that woman's name." He spat. Christine nodded knowingly, patting his arm.

"How about we name her something completely unrelated?" Christine suggested. "Something simple and pretty. Penelope."

"Penny." Erik agreed, looking at the baby as she was brought back to them. "I like it."

"Me too." Christine smiled, looking down at the very exhausted newborn. "This one is going to be trouble. I can tell…"

"God help me." Erik sighed, lying back against the headboard and covering his eyes with his arm.

"Don't you want to hold her, Erik?" Christine asked, shifting the baby's weight in her arms. The exhaustion of the day was starting to take its toll on her.

"I don't know…" He hesitated, looking at the baby's fragile little arms and legs. Though Christine insisted she was very big, she looked delicate to him. He knew he wasn't a clumsy person, but he wasn't sure if he could be trusted with this infant's life. Christine did not give him a moment to ponder this, because the sturdy body of his daughter was thrust into his hands. An instant wave of relief settled over him as he realized that he couldn't hurt this child because she was _his_. It wasn't possible for him to allow her to come to harm.

Penny.

"I am going to teach you how to sing." Erik told her. Penelope stared up at him for precisely three seconds before wailing. A sly chuckle emerged from Christine as she watched this display and the ensuing panic that darkened Erik's face as his daughter continued to squirm.

"Oh Erik," She laughed, "You are in so much trouble."


	23. The Red Scarf

**July 1912**

"Philippe, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, you need to change clothes. The Destlers are going to be here soon." The Vicomtesse de Chagny told her oldest son.

"It's just Aunt Christine and Uncle Erik…they're family, Mother." Philippe said, putting his feet up on the leather ottoman in his father's den at the summer house in Le Havre. Outside, it looked like rain.

"Penelope and Gustave will be here too, Philippe, and since you've been gone for the last three years when they've come, I want them to have a good impression of you." Meg told him.

"I thought Gustave was off honeymooning with that new wife of his…what was her name again?"

"Caroline." Meg replied with a touch of irritation. "She will be along as well. They've been married for a year now."

"Has it been a year already?" Philippe asked, uninterested as he closed his eyes. He heard his mother's footsteps move away from him and then her hushed, irritated voice.

"Raoul…talk to your son. Nineteen years old and he thinks he knows everything." She sighed loudly. Philippe loved his mother, he truly did, he was just simply tired of her trying to turn him into someone he was not. She was already harping on him about finding a wife and settling down and he was just starting his second year of university. He was tired of listening to his mother gush about Penelope Destler and how wonderful it would be if he married her because then they would truly be related to Christine and Erik.

Philippe had no interest in Penny. She was a sweet girl, if he remembered her correctly, though the last time he'd seen her, she was slightly too thin for her frame and her teeth were too big for her mouth. She had green eyes and a sprawling mop of black hair that had hung in tangles down her back. He also vaguely remembered she had pale skin and lips that were too big for her face.

A violent clap of thunder brought him out of his memory and he looked across at his father, who was lighting a pipe. The Vicomte settled his cane beside the chair he was sitting in and looked at his son.

"Please…just do this for your mother. This is her favorite time of the year, you know. She was so sad that you decided to go on a grand tour the last three summers."

"I'm just trying to enjoy my youth before I have to become a husband."

"I know your mother is enthusiastic about you getting married someday, but we both agree that you need to graduate from college and settle into a living before that day."

"She wants me to marry Penelope." Philippe grumbled. "We have nothing in common!"

"How can you know that?" Raoul laughed. "You haven't seen the child in three years."

"She's a child." Philippe insisted. "You just said it yourself."

"She is eighteen. Hardly a little girl anymore. Tell me, are you against the pairing simply because your mother chose it or because you didn't?"

"I'll change." Philippe growled, standing and striding to the door. His father chuckled, angering him. He quickly changed into a more presentable outfit and descended the back stairs quickly as he heard the sounds of people arriving. He would need to gather his thoughts before facing his mother's over-thoughtful matchmaking.

It was already sprinkling when he walked onto the quiet beach. The clouds over the horizon did not look very inviting, but he always was able to find peace out here, watching the waves of the Atlantic Ocean roll onto the shore. He settled into the sand and closed his eyes for a moment, but was interrupted almost immediately.

"Oh no!" A female voice cried, nearly startling him out of his skin. "Oh damn! Please help me!" Philippe scrambled to his feet and whirled to face his intruder, but all he could see was a mass of dark hair and two pale, small hands outstretched to the ocean.

"What's wrong?" He called out to her.

"My scarf!" She said, starting toward the water. He panicked and ran to her in a few bounds. She would sink to the floor in those heavy skirts and petticoats.

"Don't worry, I'll get it, Mademoiselle!" He assured her, rushing into the waves without hesitation and thinking with a small note of satisfaction that his mother was not going to be happy with the state of his clothing upon his return. He was nearly waist deep before he caught the silk red scarf and held it up in triumph.

"Here, Miss." He said, handing her the wet cloth. She took it as thunder clapped and the sky began to downpour. "Damn." Taking her elbow, he urged her to follow him into the small gardeners shed. He shut the door behind them and grabbed a small hand towel off of a hook. "Here." He said, handing it to the girl, who he could still not see the face of beneath the long, sopping curls.

"Thanks." She said, and he realized she had a distinctly American accent. His heart sank.

It was the infamous Penelope.

"Penelope." He said, sinking into a chair.

"You were expecting someone else?" She asked with a laugh, toweling off her hair. He shrugged, looking down at his wet shoes.

"Not at all." He replied. Quite the opposite, really.

"It is nice to see you after all these years, Philippe. It seems we always just missed each other. You were away on vacation and when you came back, I had to return to school…"

"Regrettable." He muttered, not really meaning it. He heard her make some noise of irritation at his sarcasm.

"You think just because you're incredibly handsome you can treat people any way you want?" She asked huffily. "We used to be friends, Philippe. I've come to assume you're avoiding me. You used to write to me."

"I've changed." He replied, still not looking at her. Why was he scared to see her?

"Not for the better." She scoffed. That's when he looked up as she had insulted him directly. Girls didn't insult _him._ They always acted awestruck around him. She was staring at him unashamedly.

Only, it wasn't the girl he remembered. She wasn't gangly or gawkish. Her teeth were perfect and even and white. Her lips were beautiful bow shaped and the lower lip pouted slightly out in a becoming way. Her eyes were something different altogether. They were not the same shade of light green as her father and brother, but a shocking shade of emerald which seemed electric because of the contrast of her black hair. The frizzy mess he remembered was instead perfectly arranged into ringlets, albeit wet at the moment.

Penelope was beautiful.

Philippe knew that now was not the right time for him to marry or even to settle down. He knew that he had a good many fences to mend with Penny before they could even attempt to forge a relationship. And maybe she had always been beautiful and he'd just been too blind to see it. Whatever the reason, he knew now that not only was Penelope lovely, she was smart. She was strong, intuitive and witty. And one thing that Philippe did know now for sure was that he _could_ love Penelope Destler.

It was a start.


End file.
